Blindsided
by Ice Cube1
Summary: They spend so much time trying to protect him from the worst evils...they would have never seen this coming...
1. Protecting Him is Easy

**Title: Blindsided**

**Author: Ice Cube**

**Rating: T**

**Spoilers: For Supernatural**

**Disclaimer: Right, if I owned them anywhere outside of my dreams, the characters that are forthwith mentioned in this story would be making me a lot of money and very happy…so no, they aren't mine, and I'm a broke college student who has no money, so if you're going to sue, feel free, you won't get anything.**

**Characters: Sam, Dean**

**Archives: Feel free; just let me know where so I can find it again.**

**Summary: They spend so much time trying to protect him from the worst evils…they would have never seen this coming…**

**Warnings: To those who think that I am capable of writing a fic that is torture free…I can't, and thus, if you don't want to see h/c, various possible tortures, and other forms of angst, find another story. Also, to those of you looking for slash, when I mean friendship and brotherhood, I take that in the trust you with my life and have no problem telling you about my current crush who is of the opposite sex way. In other words, if you're looking for slash, you won't find it here. **

**I don't have my stories beta'd, I'm too impatient to wait for someone to proof it after I've written it, so I apologize for any mistakes, and if you email me to tell me that they're there, I'll fix them later. Reviews are always a plus, it's great to know that people are reading my stories and like them, but as I'm a horrible reviewer, I won't hold my breath for them. Flames, however, will be treated with the utmost respect they deserve…they will be ignored completely or poked fun at with friends.**

**That said, on with the tale…

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_This is just a teaser for the story that I'm working on...it's the prologue, and it will consist of longer chapter/chapters than this...but prologues are supposed to be short anyway..._ **

_This is the first time I haven't finished a story before starting to post it here, but I wanted to get this part up when I was thinking about it, and I found that I kept getting distracted from writing without posting it...I don't understand either, so don't ask me...So, that being said, I apologize in advance if you have to hound me for the next chapter...I've got finals for the next two weeks, and while this will be a welcome escape from studying, well...we'll see...

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Dean's job every night was to put the ring of salt around his brother's bed before checking the closet and under both beds. He was supposed to protect his baby brother from anything that came to get him until their father could come to the rescue. Anything eight-year old Sam needed, Dean was in charge of getting during the night. He said his prayers and coached Sam through his, and then made sure the dream catcher above both beds was turned the right way. The twelve-year old was supposed to watch out for Sam at school, protect him from bullies, and mean lunch ladies who wanted to give him inedible food. Dean did all of this without complaining.

After all, Sam was his brother. Sam was his little shadow, growing up to be just like Dean. Sam was his best friend, his confidant, his other half. The two had spent all of their lives on the move, never staying in one place long enough should people start comparing them to the Winchesters of Kansas who disappeared as soon as John was sure that Dean could protect himself and his baby brother. It was all they knew how to do.

When John was 'at work', Dean was Sam's babysitter. He made dinner, checked Sam's spelling homework, and made sure the boy was happy. They played games and watched television when they had one, and since it was all they knew, neither boy knew to complain about their transient life. Dean didn't bother making other friends, he didn't see the need; they'd just get split up a few weeks later when his father moved them again. So he looked after Sam. When the ghost in the apartment they were squatting in came after Sam, Dean was there. When the vampires surrounded the motel they were hiding out in, Dean kept his brother hidden and safe. Sam smelled like garlic for a week after that, but eight-year old Dean hadn't known any better, and he thought it would help.

Because of this, not one member of the small, fractured family ever thought that they would have anything to worry about. Dean was his father's good little soldier, Sam was obedient and quiet, and John…well, John never let the boys see his weakness. He couldn't. But the life they had led up until this point was just the calm before the storm. And when, one day, they were caught in the sudden downpour that brought the first tragedy in eight years to their family, none of them could have seen it coming.

TBC...


	2. Annoying little brothers

Chapter 1

"When is Daddy coming home?" Little footsteps had preceded this, and Dean turned gladly from his homework, welcoming the distraction. Who cared about how many oranges seven people could have if there were thirty pieces of fruit and three of the people needed twice as many as the others? Dean only needed how to split things up in threes…making sure Sam got a little extra when he could.

"Should be home late tonight, Sammy. Maybe before you go to bed, but I doubt it. He said he'd bring you to school tomorrow morning though." Dean watched Sam smile; he knew the boy loved being able to ride in the front seat of the big, black Chevy Impala. He said he felt like a race car driver. Dean wished that Sam could be a race car driver one day, but he knew better. Still, he would never squash his brother's dreams.

Dean watched the boy scuff his feet on the worn tile floor and tried not to look bored. Eight-year olds aren't known for having the longest of attention spans, and while his brother had made sure that the small television got enough receptions for some cartoons, Sam wasn't interested in them.

"You want to come help me with my homework, Sammy?"

The boy scowled. "If I help you with it, how will you ever learn it?" Dean wasn't surprised. It wasn't that Sam didn't think he could help; they both knew he could do the math already. It was that he had some sense of honesty that neither Dean nor his father could understand.

Dean frowned. He really didn't want to do the work, but his teacher had already threatened detention once if he missed another homework assignment, and he wasn't keen on telling his father that. "Come on, Sammy. It's really easy stuff. If I get it done before dark, maybe we can go outside and kick that old basketball around a little bit. But if I have to do all of this by myself, then it's going to take forever, and we won't be able to play."

Sam rolled his eyes, but the thought of being able to play outside with his brother was too appealing. "Give me it, but you've got to write out the work or Daddy will find out."

The thought hadn't crossed Sam's mind that his brother was four grades above him in classes; that he shouldn't be able to figure out the pre-algebra problems. He had been staring at Dean's textbooks since he was old enough to read. When his father and brother weren't looking, he had worked on the math problems in the book, and they were easy to him now.

Dean stared at the boy as he rattled off numbers and flew through the problems faster than the older boy could even comprehend. Sam's class at school was working on their easy multiplication tables, and here he was doing a seventh grader's work like he'd been doing it since he was in diapers. No wonder Dad had to talk to Sam's teacher last week because the boy was goofing off in class. They had both thought that, like his older brother, the boy had simply realized the pointlessness of the classes. Their father would teach them everything they needed to know. He would have to figure out some way to tell John about the family genius.

The offending math homework was finished in record time, and Dean held his end of the bargain. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses that he had found in their last 'home' that he thought made him look cool, he led the boy outside to find the basketball. There wasn't much to keeping Sam happy, Dean decided as he kicked the ball back to his brother while checking out the girl two floors up. All he had to do was kick some dumb ball away from him and his kid brother was as happy as could be. To him it was redundant, and a waste of time, but if it made the boy across from him smile and laugh, it was worth it.

"Dean! Stop kicking it so hard. I'm not going to be able to stop it." Sam whined when the ball almost sailed past him again. He knew that his brother was trying to impress the girl sitting on the fire escape to his left, but couldn't understand why. Girls were silly and had no point to them, but his brother loved to talk about her curly hair and how she walked. Sam wanted to throw up every time Dean started, but he knew from the stories the other boys at school told that his brother wouldn't want anything to do with him soon, so he listened to his brother's stories and dream scenarios. He couldn't imagine what it would be like not having Dean care what he did.

Dean glared as the girl looked down and shook her head before walking back into the apartment. His brother could be such a pain sometimes. He turned his attention back to kicking the ball and tried to ease up. He forgot sometimes, usually after their sparring lessons, that his brother was still smaller than him and not nearly as strong yet.

Dean smiled again when, a few minutes later, the girl came out and sat on the back steps, drawing a picture in a notebook. The boy took a few more passes from his brother before walking over towards her. He was determined to get to know her name at least.

"Dean…Dean, come on. Kick the ball back. Hey!" Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "DEAN!" He was rewarded with a wide pass, but at least he had the ball back now. Sam scrambled after the ball, stopping it before it could roll into the street. He dribbled the ball in a circle for a little bit, then kicked it off the wall of the complex until some woman poked her head out of a window and yelled at him for making so much noise. He figured that Dean had been talking to that girl for long enough and should pay attention to him again. Being a pesky little brother had its perks, after all.

Sam kicked the ball over to his brother again, watching with satisfaction as it bounced off Dean's ankle. He smiled, and waited patiently, fully expecting his brother to leave the girl and come back to playing with him. The younger boy didn't understand why Dean just kicked the ball with the back of his heel, never turning to even look at Sam, but he heard Dean's words, and his smile fell.

"Nah, it's not important. It's just my little brother. Don't worry about him."

Sam hung his head, the words of his classmates ringing in his ears. He hadn't wanted to believe them; Dean was different, Dean wouldn't abandon him for a girl. He was wrong, and Sam hated to be wrong. Tears threatened, but Sam refused to let them fall. He was eight years old now, he wasn't a baby. But, being that young, he knew exactly how to get back at his brother for the comment…he could annoy him to death. With that resolve, Sam began kicking the ball as hard as he could towards Dean and that girl, letting it bounce off of the wall so that the other boy couldn't stop him.

Dean heard the ball banging off the wall next to him; he could even see it out of the corner of his eye. He loved his brother, anyone who ever questioned him on that would quickly discover the joys of a split lip or black eye, but the eight-year old was starting to really piss him off. He knew that he should tell him to stop, or go back to playing with him, but he had found out the girl's name, and she was starting to really warm up to him. Emily was playing with her hair and batting her eyelashes at him, and Dean was smitten. All he could picture was tying the boy behind him up and stringing him up by his ankles in their closet, however, and it wasn't something he wanted to continue. It was distracting him to say the least.

Emily kept asking if he wanted to go back to playing his little game with Sam, and Dean couldn't find a way to get her to stop. The fourteen-year old in front of him was quite possibly the most beautiful blonde he had ever laid eyes on that paid attention to him, and he didn't want her concerned with Sam. She thought it was cute that he was playing with the boy, and was gushing over the little one's long hair and the blue eyes that she had seen staring up at Dean before. Dean wanted to be sick. How could she be that enthralled with a little kid when he was standing right in front of her in as much glory as he could muster?

"Maybe he just wants some attention, Dan…you should go keep him company, and I'm sure he'd stop."

"Dean. My name is Dean, and Sam is fine by himself. He's used to it. Now, I was saying…" He stopped when the basketball hit him in the back of his leg so hard that his knee almost buckled. Biting back a grimace, the twelve-year old rolled his eyes and turned around. He glared daggers at the boy who's own eyes were wide, and kicked the ball as hard as he could, letting it soar far over Sam's head before turning back to Emily.

Sam hadn't meant for the ball to hit Dean again. He had aimed wrong, trying to get the ball to lift into the air so that it flew past his brother's head. He cringed when his brother's knee bent a little, expecting Dean to turn and come pin him to the ground. He wasn't sure that sparring out in the parking lot was allowed, and wondered if he and his brother would get into trouble when their father found out. The man was a big advocate for not letting anyone see exactly how skilled either boy was at fighting unless it was absolutely necessary, and Sam couldn't figure how scrapping outside their apartment could be seen as needed.

He wasn't surprised, then, by the look his brother shot him, knowing that he had overstepped his bounds. But on the other hand, Dean had promised to play with him, and now he was ignoring him. He watched the other boy's foot pull back and a smile started to cross his face. His brother wasn't abandoning him for some girl; he was going to play with him again. Then the smile fell when the ball left the ground. There was no way the ball was going to fall before it passed Sam. Hurt and disappointment, and a little bit of guilt mixed through Sam's emotions, and showed plainly on his face, but only Emily saw it. Sam dropped his gaze to his feet and sighed. Determined to still have fun, though, the boy turned to chase after the ball.

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There is a problem with eight-year old boys. They tend to have one-track minds; and repeated warnings and lectures about their safety and how to ensure it tend to only stick for so long when they have a goal in mind. It doesn't matter how many times they have done so before, it only takes one time to forget what they are supposed to do, how important it is for them not to forget, and that time is almost always the worst one to do so.

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Sam wanted to chase down the old basketball that he and his brother had found only a few days beforehand, and he wasn't thinking about anything else. He wasn't willing to lose it, since it was one of the few toys that he and Dean had that couldn't kill someone or something without a really big stretch of the imagination. To Sam, it was the best thing in the world. And if his brother was going to blow him off for some girl, and leave the boy to his own devices, then he was going to keep the one thing that reminded him of how Dean was once. He couldn't leave the ball and find a new one. He had to have this one.

He watched the ball bounce once directly behind where he'd been standing, and then take off again, and he chased after it. It was the only thing he could see, and so he ran for it without thinking of anything else. The ball bounced a few more times before rolling, and still Sam chased after it. He had just overtaken it and trapped it with his foot, reaching down to pick it up when he heard Dean yell. Sam had enough time to roll his eyes and stand straight up, not impressed that his brother was finally paying attention to him when he saw why the older boy had yelled. Sam gasped, and his eyes went wide.

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Dean hadn't thought Emily would find anything wrong with him getting rid of his brother's ball, and was surprised when she had glared at him.

"You should be nicer to your kid brother. He looks like he adores you still. That's really sweet, and I wish my sister still looked up to me like your brother does. You'll miss it when it's gone."

"I…we…" Dean sighed. "I know I should. I've never done that before, I'm sorry. I just wanted to…"

"Dan!"

"Dean. It's Dean."

"Whatever. Oh my God! Look!" Emily pointed with one hand as the other clapped over her mouth.

Dean looked at her like she had two heads before spinning, wondering what kind of supernatural being could have snuck up on him that quietly and why his father didn't know about it. His hand went instinctively to the knife under his tee-shirt before he had turned around, but when he did, the knife, Emily, his father, and any thought of the supernatural was wiped from his mind. Time slowed to a crawl, and Dean would swear that he stood there, rooted into that one spot, for an eternity. His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. His mind screamed at him to run, to yell, to throw his forgotten knife; anything to stop the inevitable. His heart told him that he could never get to Sam in time; that he was going to lose the boy, something he had sworn to himself never to do. His muscles reacted when his mind screamed, and the instant that passed between Emily yelling and his moving was miniscule.

"SAMMY!" He yelled at the top of his lungs as his feet propelled him forward faster than if Satan himself was nipping at his heels. He felt like he was running through a swamp, a task he had done once with his father, and his chest was on fire. Tears were already gathering at the corners of his eyes, and nothing had even happened yet. Dean saw Sam stand up, could see the boy's eyes rolling, and guilt shot him straight in the heart.

Then he heard the horn. He saw the red car that had made the noise. Dean heard the sharp intake of breath that his brother took. He saw Sam's eyes widen. Then he heard tires squealing. He watched, detached, as the basketball in his brother's hands went flying back into the safety of the parking lot. He heard the loudest thump he could ever remember. He saw two tons of steel plow into his brother. He heard someone scream; he was surprised to realize the sound had come from him. He watched the boy spin around and fly up into the air. He heard a car accelerating. He saw the license plate and instantly memorized it. He heard his heart pounding in his chest. He stared as Sam crashed to the ground and rolled. Then he didn't hear anything else, and that scared him more than anything. He kept running.

Dean dove to the ground; he didn't feel the skin tearing from his bare knees as he slid across the pavement to his brother's side. Sam's face was bloody, his eyes closed. Fear still gripped the younger boy's features, and his skin was already a pale gray. The boy's right arm was mangled, and his tee-shirt was ripped. Dean saw something splash onto his brother's forehead, clearing the offending red substance momentarily, showing him the baby skin that was still part of his brother. He felt the warmth on his cheeks and realized that his tears were washing the blood off Sam's forehead.

There was so much red. Sam's blond hair was covered in it. His gray tee-shirt was saturated. His knees and lower legs were soaked. Dean was sure there wasn't a single part of his brother that wasn't bloody.

_How could Sammy still be alive? Why had that car been going so fast? Why hadn't it stopped? Who could do this to his brother? Why had he kicked the ball so hard? Why was he so interested in some girl? Oh God, this is all my fault. I…the ball…Sammy…Dad…oh God._

"Sammy? Oh God, please. Sammy? Sammy, answer me. Oh man, oh man, oh man. Sammy, come on. You're okay. You have to be okay. Sammy? Oh God. SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE!"

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TBC...

**_Oops...I swear I didn't do it...it was all...the WB's fault...if they would be playing new episodes starting this week and not in 6 weeks I wouldn't be watching old episodes...and getting ideas...but I didn't do it...I swear..._**

**_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, it means alot that people like my stories...

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	3. Whisked Away

**_I figured I should get another chapter out before the weekend was up since now the next two weeks straight need to be geared towards getting through the end of the semester...yay senior year of college...so now I really don't know when I'll update again...sorry...oh, you might want a tissue...or three...or a box...sorry...it wasn't me, I was dead at the time...I was on the moon (kudos to whoever gets the reference from that)..._**

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Chapter 2

Dean didn't know what to do. His brother lay in front of him, deathly still, and still Dean cried. He didn't care who saw him, or what his father would say, he just wanted his brother to be okay. The boy silently berated himself for not being old enough to know what to do, even as he pulled his tee shirt off and started to mop the blood off of his brother. The younger boy's face was scraped badly; his left eyebrow was split with a deep gash. Both of Sam's forearms were scraped raw as well, and Dean could see both bones in his brother's right arm sticking through the skin. The sight made his stomach turn, and he wanted to run far away. He couldn't though, Sam needed him, and so he banished the thought from his head.

"SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE!" Dean called again, and jumped when he felt a hand on his back. He looked up through tear-obscured eyes and saw Emily holding out the light jacket she had been wearing. He took it and smiled, piling it under Sam's head carefully as he log rolled the boy onto his back. "Can you call my father? He'll know what to do. Wait, no. Call for help first. Someone has to come help him. I can't do it. I promised Dad I'd take care of him, and…he needs help. Please. He's gotta be okay. He's…"

"Dan…"

"Dean."

"Dean. I'm going to go call 911 and get my mother. She's a nurse, she'll help him, okay? Just calm down and your brother will be just fine."

Dean took heart in her words, not letting himself think otherwise, and took a deep breath before turning back to his brother. Sam looked worse, he thought, than he had just minutes beforehand. Now, however, the twelve-year old had his wits more about him, and moved to stave off the worst of the bleeding. A small piece of his sleeve was jabbed into the laceration on Sam's eye, and the rest of it was jammed between Dean's knee and Sam's left arm, keeping pressure on the wound. Sam's legs were both bloodied and rubbed raw from the pavement, and there was a jagged cut running from his left knee up under his shorts. Here, Dean wadded up the rest of his shirt and slammed it down on the leg, pushing as hard as he could. Moving so that he could rest his own left leg on the makeshift gauze, Dean kept probing.

The older Winchester caught sight of his brother's right arm again. The wound was still bleeding sluggishly, and Dean knew that he needed to pay more attention to it. He needed something to bind it with, and he had little left on him. Looking at Sam's already ripped shirt, the boy grabbed his knife from where it was nestled and cut the fabric away from his brother. His father had taught him how to reset bones when Sam was six, and so, with only an instant to close his eyes and grab the arm lest he lose his nerve, Dean did as his father had taught.

The pain brought his baby brother back to consciousness, and a cry ripped from his lips, the sound of it breaking Dean's heart. Pain-laced eyes sought his, and Sam whimpered. His breath hitched, and his eyes clenched shut again. "Dean," the word was barely even a whisper, but it was music to the older boy's ears.

Dean smiled, but by the time it reached his face, Sam's eyes had clouded in pain again, and then slid shut. They didn't open again. Dean didn't have the luxury of taking heart in this, simply wrapped the broken arm in Sam's tee-shirt and took the time to breathe again.

That breath caught in his throat and choked him, threatening to send him into hysterics again when he saw the angry bruises that covered his little brother's chest and stomach. The bright purples and reds assaulted Dean's vision, and he could see the light tinges at the center that showed how much blood had escaped it's intended path and was now pooling where it shouldn't. These bruises ran deep, and Dean didn't want to imagine what that meant. A strangled cry ripped from his lips when he didn't notice his brother's chest rising, and his hands started to shake.

"Oh God, oh man, oh no, oh shit. Sammy. No, no, please." Dean lay over his brother, the only way he could reach the boy's mouth, and felt to see if he had made a mistake. He hadn't. Dean turned to start rescue breathing for his brother. It was only a few minutes later when he felt the same hand on his shoulder again.

"Dean, let my mother help. She knows what to do."

"I have to help him. He's not breathing, and he's bleeding, and I need to help him."

A petite woman cupped his chin with her hand, kneeling down across from him and looking into his eyes. "And you are, child. You have been helping him. Do you think I could help you help him?" Her words were soft, and Dean found himself relaxing a little. Adults could help better than he could. He nodded.

"Good. Why don't you move so that you can push down on that cut there harder, and Emily will hold onto that wound there, okay? Good boy." The woman didn't say anything else as she checked Sam's pulse and continued breathing for him.

Dean didn't remember how long he watched, helplessly, as the woman stroked his brother's hair and breathed in for him every three seconds. He took what comfort he could in seeing his brother's chest rise and fall every time she did so, and also, with somewhat of a deranged logic, that he could still feel the warmth of his brother's blood pushing up against his tee-shirt and his hand. If the boy was still bleeding, then he could still be all right.

When the red flashing lights finally started to blind Dean, his hands were shaking, and his face was pale. Emily's mother was still breathing for his brother, but his hope was fading. Sam should have started breathing again by now, he should be whining about how much it hurt; God, Dean would give anything to hear his brother complaining.

He saw the stretcher and backboard come out with the paramedics who raced from their rig to his brother's aid. He saw them start to attach things that he couldn't quite place on Sam, and felt himself being moved out of the way as his job was taken over. The shirt was discarded, and pressure dressings replaced it. Dean stood, unsure of himself, by his brother's feet. Slowly, the men's voices started to break through to him.

"…doesn't look too good, does it? Let's get him in the rig, but…" The paramedic hadn't really thought he was speaking loudly enough to be heard, but he found the lapel of his shirt being grabbed by an irate nurse just after the stretcher had been raised so that the boy could be rolled and transferred to the bus.

"_You_ may want to consider that _that_ is this boy's brother behind you before you open your mouth again." Emily's mother pointed to Dean, and the paramedic turned. He saw wide, fear-filled eyes, and knew that the boy had heard him. The boy looked so small, his skin was so pale. His lower legs were covered in blood from his scraped knees, and the official felt like he had been stabbed. "Son, I…"

Dean didn't wait to hear anymore. It was his fault, all his fault that Sam was hurt, and now he was going to die because Dean had been stupid. He had let some girl get between him and the only one who looked up to him; idolized him no matter what he did; loved him like only a little brother could. He was supposed to protect Sam, and he had been the one that hurt him. It didn't matter that the sports car with a New Jersey license plate had inflicted the physical damage, Dean had caused it, and now Sam was going to die on him. It was all his fault. Sam should get as far away from him as possible, and since he was unconscious, with a bag over his mouth that was breathing for him, Dean did the only thing he thought he could do for his brother. He had to protect him, no matter what the cost.

Dean threw the hunting knife that was still in his hand to the ground and turned from his brother, sprinting away as fast as he could. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and sobs racked his body, making it difficult to stay on his own two feet, but the guilt was clutching his heart and propelling him forward. He tore away from the apartment complex and bolted down the street, heading for the woods that he and his brother had played in just the day before. He never heard his father's Chevy Impala tear onto the scene, didn't hear John's own anguished cries as he saw Sam. Dean just kept running.

"That's my youngest son! Oh my God, Sammy! What happened to him? Where's Dean? Someone tell me something!" John yelled as he grabbed for his baby boy's hand. It was so cold.

Emily's mother stood in front of him, her five foot three stature not at all menacing to the man. Her background took over, trying to calm the distraught father. "Sir, there was an accident. Your…Sam was hit by a car. Dean got scared and he just ran off. You need to go with these men and your youngest son, and my Emily and I will find Dean and bring him to the hospital after that. You need to go, now. Okay?"

John couldn't think clearly enough to comprehend what she was saying; he just let his body follow her instructions and climbed into the ambulance. He sat down heavily as the paramedics shut the door, one leaving to drive the rig and the other continuing to work on his son.

Emily and her mother watched as the red lights and sirens screamed away. Neither looked down at the blood on the ground or on them. Emily took off after Dean as her mother headed for her car, both intent on finding the boy and getting him back with his brother; or at least his father.

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Dean didn't know why he was running, why he hadn't stayed with his brother, and he cursed his stupidity. But for some reason, he couldn't stop himself from sprinting down the street. He couldn't breathe, and his chest was on fire, but instinct drove him on. He left behind the houses and stared straight ahead, his gaze set on the woods looming menacingly in front of him. He had only made it a few feet into the forest when he tripped over a log. He couldn't push himself to his feet, as much as he wanted to. All he could do was crawl to the nearest tree trunk and huddle against it, taking comfort in the pain that came from the bark scratching his raw back.

Dean was afraid. He was afraid like he had been only once before. On that night where his father had shoved his baby brother into his arms and told him to run outside and not look back. The four-year old had been afraid that he would never see his parents again, and now he may never see his brother again.

The pre-teen hugged his legs in closer to his chest, shuddering as his arms slipped on the blood, and he released the extremities, letting them fall in exhaustion. He looked down at his hands, covered in both his and his brother's blood, and before he could understand what was happening, he had rolled to his side and emptied the contents of his stomach repeatedly onto the forest floor. He managed to push himself to his hands and knees; his arms shaking as he continued to expel his lunch, and then began to dry heave.

This was where Emily and her mother found the inconsolable boy, still trying to lay his insides out among the leaves. Emily stood rooted to the spot, not prepared for the pain that radiated off of the boy so plainly. Where was the cocky, self-assured twelve-year old that she had been talking to earlier? This boy looked so shaken, so small, so broken, that she almost couldn't recognize him.

Emily's mother's heart went out to Dean, and her maternal instincts kicked in strongly. Her own heart clenched at the boy's distress and she raced forward, gathering the boy into her arms and sitting back against the tree he had once been using as a backrest. She buried his head into her shoulder and rubbed his back, whispering into his ear and letting him clench her shirt. His sobs echoed through the woods, and the hitching of his shoulders physically shook her. Tears gathered into her own eyes as the boy continued to shake, exhaustion claiming any strength that he may have had. His breathing was ragged and caused him to shake more. She could see the pallor of his skin, and could tell that shock was claiming him. While trying to quiet him, she sent her daughter back to the car for her husband's coat in the trunk. She resettled Dean more fully onto her lap and held him close, lending him what strength she could, and simply enveloping the boy in her hug. It was all she could do for him until he was responsive again.

Dean could only just remember what it had felt like to be comforted by a mother figure, but he couldn't understand why anyone thought he deserved it. He had killed his brother just moments before, and now someone sought to console him. He didn't have the strength to fight it, however, and found that the soothing pattern on his back was calming him down some. All he could do was grip the shirt he was turned to as tightly as he could, as if it was his only link to sanity, to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be hated by everyone forever.

Still the boy's breath hitched, still he shook, still he sobbed into this woman's shoulder, and still his muscles twitched and shivered in fear. But the breaths were no longer choking him, the shaking was no longer rocking him, the tears were no longer stinging his eyes, and the shivers were no longer stealing all of his strength. He was unaware of anything going on around him, he didn't feel his arms being stuffed into jacket sleeves, didn't notice as peroxide was poured over his knees and they were cleaned up. He quieted slowly, and started to stare blankly ahead. He had failed, done so just so completely and utterly that he almost couldn't understand it. It didn't matter to him that it was his brother who hadn't looked where he was going, that it was the driver of the car and not Dean who had hurt his brother, all that mattered was that Sam had been chasing that ball because Dean had been selfish, and in being so, he had killed his brother.

Dean felt someone pulling him to his feet and laying his arm across their shoulders. He didn't want to think about anything, and so he simply allowed himself to be led forward, following along like a shadow of the boy he normally was.

Emily shouldered Dean's weight and led him out of the woods and back to the street. She reached for the back door of her mother's car and eased the boy in, swinging his feet into the car and buckling his seatbelt. If she hadn't been so concerned, the teenager would have thought the boy so much like the small children that she often babysat when they were so tired that they couldn't function. But she was painfully aware of the fact that it wasn't strictly exhaustion that was preventing Dean from moving, and the guilt that had sent him into this catatonic state was also at the pit of her stomach. She, too, had been distracting Dean from his brother, coming down to see what the boy was really like. She was unaware that he was only twelve, and was happy to have a boy pay attention to her. Logically, she knew that she had tried to send Dean back to Sam, but it didn't make seeing the small body take on the fast car any easier.

When the car started up, Dean panicked. The pain was still too fresh and being in an object that had just killed his brother terrified him. His breath quickened as the car sped on towards the hospital, and he started to hyperventilate.

Emily saw the boy panic and reacted. She grabbed his chin and turned his head to hers, making Dean look into her eyes.

"Dean. We're going to take you to your father and brother. Everything is going to be all right if you just calm down. Breathe, kid, just breathe." She kept talking to him until he started to nod back at her and take deep breaths.

After that, the boy just stared straight ahead, concentrating on breathing. Emily had said that she would take him to his father. John would know what to do; he would make Dean feel better. Or would he? Dean didn't know suddenly if he wanted to see his father. What would the man say? Would he, too, blame Dean for Sam's death? Would he see what Dean saw, or could the man forgive him? He had spent his sons' lives teaching Dean how to keep Sam safe, and the boy had failed.

The car stopped, and Dean just sat there. Emily's mother opened the back door and bent down. "Dean? Come on. Your father's inside."

"I can't. I killed him. I can't."

The whispered confession tore at the mother's heartstrings. Tears checked at the corners of her eyes as she leaned into the car and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Come on, child. We don't know anything yet. Let's go find your father."

Dean just nodded. He didn't have the strength to do anything else, and he tumbled out of the car. Standing on shaky legs, he followed the women into the hospital.

They entered the hospital and the all-too-familiar stench of it reached Dean's nose. He shuddered and barely heard as he was pointed in the direction of the emergency waiting area.

* * *

Dean dragged his feet through the doors alone, having been left by Emily's mother as she sought out one of her co-workers to find out about Sam. He wasn't sure where Emily was. Tears still marred his cheeks, and his arms wrapped around his ribs in the jacket that hung off of him. His bare chest still showed underneath. The boy looked up and searched out the one person he needed to find. He wasn't hard to spot.

"Dad." The boy's voice was weak and quivered in uncertainty. His father was crumpled into a hard, unforgiving chair, his head cupped in his hand, the shoulders hunched as his elbows rested on his knees.

John's head swiveled up and glared at his son, and Dean's heart dropped into his stomach. After all of this, Dean was afraid.

"Daddy?"

* * *

TBC...

* * *

**_Remember...it wasn't me...Review? let me know if you want to kill me for this? Please?_**


	4. Emotions High as a Kite

**_Sorry this took so long to get out guys, and I apologize in advance for the end of the chapter...it looks like it's probably going to be another week before I can update again...I have a cumulative final and a surgery observation this week as well as packing to go home for break and God only knows what else...I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible...

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Chapter 3_**

"Daddy? I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. It's my fault, but I didn't mean it. Honest. I know you hate me and I'm so sorry I didn't protect him, and I'm sorry I couldn't fix it."

The man's features softened as soon as he saw Dean. He hadn't expected his oldest son to look so horrible, to sound so forlorn, and any thoughts of lecturing the boy about running off unsafely were gone in an instant. Paternal instincts kicked in and he rose swiftly, racing to his son before dropping to his knees and enveloping his oldest boy into the largest hug he could muster. He let out the breath he felt he had been holding since he had first seen Sam.

"What's this nonsense you're talking, son?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy, I didn't mean for Sammy to die. It's all my fault, and I know you hate me now. I failed, Daddy. You told me to keep him safe and instead I killed him. I didn't want this to happen, not at all. I didn't mean for the ball to go into the street, I swear. I didn't…I didn't." Dean trailed off into sobs again, and clutched his father's shirt, bawling into the man's shoulder.

"Shh…Dean. Dean, calm down. Dean…" he pulled his son away from his shoulders and tried to wipe the tears from his son's eyes. "Listen to me, Dean. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known what was going to happen. You…wait," John looked into his son's eyes, seeing the pure despair there.

"Dean. Dean, you didn't _kill_ Sammy."

"Yes, I…" Dean tried to interrupt his father, but the man just put a finger to the boy's lips, silencing him.

"Dean, you didn't _kill_ Sammy. You didn't. He…"

Dean protested again, and John raised his voice to stop his son. "Dean, stop this. You didn't _kill_ him. Sammy isn't dead."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. His hands shook on his father's chest and his jaw dropped. Suddenly, his legs couldn't hold him up, and he felt himself slumping to the floor. He was vaguely aware of being lifted into his father's arms like when he was younger and cuddled close. He buried his face in his father's neck uncharacteristically, and took what comfort he could from his father's rare show of emotion.

The man slumped heavily back into the chair and rocked his son, whispering over and over that it was going to be okay, that Sam was going to be okay, that it wasn't Dean's fault. He rocked the boy until he could feel the boy's back rising and falling evenly; Dean had cried himself to sleep in pure relief.

The dreams that came to Dean intensified his guilt and made him feel even worse. Subconsciously, he felt horrible about the fact that he was safe in his father's arms and Sam was who knows where, alone and hurt. Dean saw his brother's funeral, saw his father crying openly at the loss of his youngest son. He saw them fighting evil, and falling, because they had both been distracted when the demon mentioned Sam. He saw people he didn't even know dying because they weren't around to help. It was a lot of weight to fall on his little shoulders.

Dean woke with a yell and launched himself from his father's slack fingers, yelling for his brother. He didn't know what he was going to do, didn't really even understand where he was as he was still half asleep; he just knew that he had to make sure Sam was going to be okay. He couldn't die; he just couldn't.

Dean snapped to attention when his father grabbed his arms, forcing the boy to look at him and waited for him to wake fully.

"I have to find him, Dad. I have to apologize. He has to be all right."

"Dean, calm down. The doctor's are trying to help him; you have to wait to apologize for running off. He doesn't even know you did. The EMT's said that you saved his life, Dean; you have nothing to apologize for." John wasn't going to let unfounded guilt cloud his son's head. He could lecture the boy about running off scared later; that was no way for a hunter to act.

"Have nothing to apologize for?" Dean's raised voice was incredulous. "Nothing? It's my fault he's hurt! I did it. It's my fault; he's hurt because of me. Me, Dad, don't you get it? It's all because of me!"

"Dean, you couldn't have stopped that car. It's the driver's fault, not yours."

"Do you even know what happened? Sam wouldn't have been in the street if it wasn't for ME, not anywhere near whoever hit him. It's MY FAULT!" Dean was screaming at the top of his lungs and started pounding on his father's chest, stopping the man from quieting him and quelling his guilt. "MINE!"

John looked oddly at his son. "What do you mean, Dean? What happened out there?" He realized that no one had told him why his boy was in the street at all, just that he had been hit by a car and they were doing their best to save him. He had watched, hopeless and dejected, as air was pumped into Sam's lungs until the boy had coughed weakly, called for Dean, and then went silent. There was no one with John to tell him anything else; and, once the ambulance had reached the hospital, he had been led to the seat he was now at, and that was it.

Dean sniffled and lifted bloodshot eyes to search his father's. Tear tracks marred his face, and he refused to wipe them away. "Sam wouldn't have been in the road if it weren't for me. I didn't mean for the ball to go in the road, Dad. He was bugging me when I was trying to talk to Emily, and I kicked the ball over his head. I didn't know he was going to chase after it; I just wanted him to leave me alone." He paused to sniffle and breathe before starting again. "The ball must have gone into the street and he chased after it. Emily yelled and I saw the car run Sammy over. He…he flew so high in the air, and I didn't know what to do. He was so bloody; his arm was a mess. I fixed it like you showed me, but then he stopped breathing. Emily and her mom helped, and then the ambulance came, but they said there was no hope and…and…and…" he whispered the rest, "I ran away."

John had started backing away from his son when he realized that Dean had placed some girl as a higher priority than his younger brother, and was now pressed up against the wall behind him. Any sympathy he had had for the boy beforehand was gone, replaced with anger borne of fear for Sam. The man wasn't thinking straight, and could only feel the rage that stemmed from his helplessness to protect the boys. He didn't even realize how cold he sounded.

"I can't believe you, Dean. You let him down and worse, you caused this. He's lying on some cold hospital bed by himself because your hormones took charge. I trusted you to protect him, thought you were mature enough to realize that Sam is all we have left…all I have left of your mother." John stalked off, leaving his son heartbroken in the middle of the hallway.

"You have me too," Dean whispered before breaking down, falling to his knees and covering his face with his hands. Tears pooled in the palms of his hands and spilled over, soaking into the torn jean shorts that he sported.

John caught sight of his oldest in a window as he continued to stalk off, berating himself for losing it, but something in him snapped. He turned back to the boy and lifted him by the arm until he was standing. "Don't ever let me see you cry like this again, do you hear me? These tears are pointless and can't do anything to help Sam now. Do you think he would want to see you like this? Do you think that would make him feel better? You need to think of him, not yourself first, and crying like a baby girl is not a good way to show it."

Dean's eyes dried instantly, his face paled, his mouth clamped shut. Fear stoned all of his features, and he slowly nodded, gulping when his father threw his arm down and stormed off again. Unconsciously, the boy grabbed his arm where his father had clamped down on it, and he curled into the nearest chair, staring straight ahead and breathing brokenly. He knew his father was worried about Sam, and could hear it in his voice even as the man was yelling at him, but the words still etched into his memory. If his tears would make Sam worse off in anyway, then Dean wouldn't hurt him anymore. He vowed only to let himself break down again if he lost his brother for good. It was the last time Dean would cry for ten years.

* * *

Dean must have fallen asleep or zoned out, because the next thing he knew, his father was standing in front of him again. The boy could see his father's lips moving, but he couldn't make out the words; he was consumed in his worries for Sam. They should have heard something by now, they should know if Sam was going to be okay of if he was going to…Dean couldn't finish that train of thought. His brother was strong; there was no way that some car was going to beat him. Sam was destined to help Dean and his father rid the world of evil, nothing as normal as an out-of-control driver could take him away. The boy realized that he didn't know how to live without the boy tagging along at his side; he couldn't remember life before Sam other than the few scattered memories of his mother.

"Dean…Dean, can you even hear me? Are you listening to me? Dean?" John was worried. He had been standing in front of his son for almost twenty minutes, trying to get the boy to understand that he hadn't really meant to sound so angry with him; that he was just worried. But Dean was staring off into space, and seemed almost catatonic. John was starting to feel true fear that he would lose both of his sons tonight. He hadn't meant to be gone so long, and had tried to make it back early to surprise the boys, but, he mused, he supposed he shouldn't have left them in the first place. He wouldn't anymore, he decided. From now on, wherever John went to hunt, the boys went too. Sam could stay locked in the Impala until he was old enough to help, but never again would he leave the boys so unprotected.

"Dean." John shook his son finally, having been truly frightened by the blank stare that his son was locked in. He smiled grimly as his boy shook his head and locked eyes with him, fear shooting out at him as Dean was unsure of what his father was going to say next. He gulped.

"Dad. I'm sorry, really I am. I know you trusted me with Sammy, and I messed up. I guess I'm just not good enough to look out for him. I guess he isn't safe with me." The pure shame and remorse in the simple words cut John's soul to shreds, and he had to make it right with his oldest boy.

"No, Dean. I didn't mean it like that. I know you're getting older, and you don't always want your baby brother hanging around, but that's the life we lead and he doesn't have anyone else. I…"

"I know that, Dad. I don't know why I did what I did. Sammy shouldn't be around me, I understand that, I'll just get him hurt."

"No. Dean. Listen to me. You protect your brother better than anyone else in the world could protect him; better than I could ever hope to. Your mother called him your little shadow and that's what he is. He's your responsibility, and it would be a poor way to show how mature you can be if you just dumped him off on someone else; on me."

"I would _never _dump Sammy anywhere." The vehemence that showed only in Dean's voice when someone dared to question his and Sam's relationship was icy and harsh. It made John smile; his son, at least his older one, was going to be all right. And this would teach him a lesson too; the father was sure that Dean would be much more concerned for his baby brother's well-being now that this had happened. John hated to use the boys like this, but in their line of work, he would have had to be completely oblivious to think that he would always come out of every hunt. If something happened to him, he needed to know that the boys could survive. He was more sure of that now than ever. If Sam came out of this, that is.

"Good." It was all he offered Dean, but it was all he knew how to do. He pulled the boy out of the seat in the hallway. "There's a television down the hall, and some vending machines. What do you say we head down there? The nurses said they'd find us there if they heard anything on your brother."

Dean just nodded, still unsure of what his status would be with Sam when…not if, but when…the boy would wake up. He knew that now, more than ever, he had to protect his little brother from everything he could, and even everything he couldn't. He had to make this up to Sam somehow.

Dean and John both stared at the television, neither sure of what they were watching, not really aware of the passage of time. They were both berating themselves for putting Sam at risk, and making promises that they would never do it again. There was no way for either of them to know how long they had been at it when something grabbed the younger Winchester's attention.

Dean's eyes focused on the television again, taking in the breaking news broadcast that was filling the screen. He watched as some reported talked into the microphone, but the volume was muted and the boy had to wait for the cameraman to widen the shot again. He could have sworn he saw it, but couldn't be certain until it came into view again.

And there it was. A red sports car with New Jersey plates. The numbers matched. It was the wreck of a car that had tried to steal Sam's life away from him.

"Dad," he barely breathed, and a shiver coursed through him. Immense hatred flowed through his veins, and the boy hoped that whoever had been driving the car was in pieces on the road somewhere. He hoped that the driver was dead and had died painfully. He knew that if he hadn't, then Dean wanted to find him and rip him limb from limb.

John looked up at his son's voice and caught the glimpse of absolute loathing in the boy's eyes. He followed Dean's gaze to the television and saw the news footage of the car wreck.

"Dean, you don't know that that is the same…"

"Yes. Yes I do. The car is the same make and year, the plates are the same, and I can feel it. That's the car that hit Sammy."

"You're sure?"

Dean turned to look at his father, and the man had never trusted his son's word more than he did in that moment. His boy didn't normally wear his heart on his sleeve, and it took a lot to pull his emotions out to be plainly seen, but John had always been able to read his son through his eyes; the boy would tell you exactly what he was feeling if only you took the time to really see him.

"Then it looks like he got what he deserved, doesn't it?"

"I hope he's dead. If not, I'm going to find him, and I'm going to kill him. I swear it on Mom. He won't get away with this."

The absolute evil that came from Dean's mouth shocked his father, and the mention of the boys' mother almost sent him out of it. In that instant, being reminded of Mary, John agreed with his son. But age also brings reason, and despite the blinding hate, he was able to put it aside to reason with his son.

But no amount of reasoning could sway Dean, and John fervently hoped, for both boys' sakes, that the driver of the red sports car had already traveled on to whatever awaited him.

* * *

It was only a short while later when Dean saw a pair of paramedics slowly walking in beside a stretcher. He only heard the letters "MVA" and "DOA" uttered, but he understood them and rose to see the body. He wandered over unimpeded, and stared with utter contempt. He listened as the medic spoke to the nurses at the front desk and could tell that the man was trying to get a phone number, but was more concerned with what he said next.

"Yeah, this is the one from that wreck on TV. It's a pity too. Kid was driving without her seatbelt on and was drunk. She had her whole life ahead of her too. Wonder what she would have become?"

Dean was livid as he stared at the bloody blonde hair and the delicate, red hand. "She would have been dead one way or another." He wasn't even aware that he was speaking out loud, but he garnered everyone's attention nonetheless. "I would have killed her if she hadn't died. She got the easy way out." He was almost shaking in anger.

"What do you mean, kid? You should have more respect. She's dead, you know."

"Respect? Did she have any respect when she screamed around the corner near my home and hit my brother? Did she have any respect for the fact that she just drove off after she hit an eight-year old without even stopping to see if he was okay? I won't have respect for someone like that. Not ever."

"She hit a kid? Wait, was your brother the one we brought in earlier; had stopped breathing and the like? You're the kid that ran away when we got there?"

Dean rolled his eyes and just nodded.

The medic licked his lips. "Well I'm sorry, then kid. But maybe we don't have the whole story, you know? There could have been a reason behind why she was going so fast."

"A REASON? SHE NEARLY KILLED MY BROTHER! SHE MAY STILL MANAGE IT, WE DON"T KNOW YET!" Dean glared at the man before being grabbed from behind and wrapped into a strong embrace.

"Dean," John soothed. "Sammy's going to be okay, we have to believe that right now. It'll be all right."

Dean didn't even notice as he was led back to his chair. He slumped back down, only to jolt up a moment later.

"Are you with Sam Winchester?" The doctor was covered in blood, and his eyes had no sparkle to them. The man looked nervous and absolutely hopeless. Dean's heart plummeted.

* * *

TBC...

**_Sorry...review?_**


	5. He's gonna be Okay? Right?

**_See...I told you I hadn't abandoned it...and now that finals are over, I hope to be able to get back to writing more often and hopefully finish this soon...and start more too of course...but for now, on with the story...

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Chapter 4

The man in front of Dean and John sighed. The look of the smaller one cut to the man's heart and he wished that he had better news to give the two. He had seen many motor versus pedestrian cases, and each time it was a child, it tore another piece out of his soul. There was no need for children to be the victim of these, especially when he had overheard Dean's previous outburst. Drunk driving never did well for anyone, be it the person making the decision to drink or the people that they hurt in the long run, and it seemed that the woman who had hit his patient had lost on both counts.

Both John and Dean were silently urging the doctor in front of them on. One way or another, they needed to know how the youngest member of their family fared. They had both long ago immortalized Mary in Sam, and not knowing what was going on with the small boy made it feel like they were losing both Winchesters at once. One now bit his lip and the other wrung his hands together, both praying that the grim visage that faced them was only tired and not saddened at the work he had put in.

The doctor sighed again and finally addressed the family in front of him. "Sam was a pretty bad mess when he was brought in. He stopped breathing again shortly after he was transferred to my care, and his heart stopped shortly after that. One of his ribs was pressing on his vena cava, and cutting off his blood supply to his heart. We managed to reset the rib without opening up his chest, but it took a little longer than we would have liked to restart his heart." The emergency room doctor paused as Dean swayed on his feet. "Maybe your son should sit down, Mr. Winchester."

"What? Sam isn't…oh, Dean." John took one look at his oldest son and guided him back down into the chair behind him. "Please, continue."

The doctor nodded once more and began again. "Like I said, it took a little longer than we would have liked to get his heart started again, and we're not sure yet what kind of effect it may have had on him."

"But you got it started again, right?" Dean interrupted him, needing some kind of professional reassurance that his brother was still among the living.

"Yes, we did. But he is by no means out of the woods yet, son. His right lung also collapsed from his rib cage taking so much of the car's force. We had to insert a chest tube to re-inflate it, and he's on a ventilator now. We stitched a gash on his forehead, on the back of his head, and on his left arm. We also had to stitch up his left thigh, and we're a little bit worried about anterior compartment syndrome settling there." Dean rolled his eyes at the medical term he didn't understand.

Still the doctor continued. "He has a pretty bad concussion and some cranial swelling that we're worried about. His right kneecap and tibia are broken, and we're concerned that he may have a skull fracture as well. He had some pretty bad road rash on his chest, face, and extremities, which we disinfected and covered, and from there we had done all we could."

The last four words sent Dean into a panic, and it was all he could do to not jump up and throttle the doctor for not saving his brother. _Oh my God, did all they could…oh my God. Sammy's gone, after all this he still died. I can't believe it, oh God it's my fault, oh no it's…wait, he's still talking? What the Hell?_

"We had to send him up to surgery to repair his arm and to take care of any internal bleeding he may have. I need you to sign this consent form to allow them to perform an exploratory laparotomy."

"Is it dangerous?" John was already reaching for the pen, however.

"Under ideal circumstances, it isn't. If you or your older son were to undergo one, you'd be up and about in a few days provided we didn't find anything wrong. But for someone in Sam's condition, I won't lie to you; it's a bit of a risk."

"And if it were your son…?"

"I'd have it done in a second." There was no hesitation in the man's voice and John nodded, signing the forms.

"Surgery is up on the fourth floor. Allie here will show you up there. If you need anything else, the nurses up there will be able to assist you and keep you updated about Sam."

John got back up slowly from the chair he hadn't realized that he'd sunk into, and moved to follow. He was immediately on alert, however, when he didn't feel Dean following him.

"Dean?"

The twelve-year old looked up into his father's eyes with fear filling his own. He needed to know that all of this was going to be worth it; that his brother was going to be just fine and wasn't going to hate him when he came out of this. He needed to know that if Sam didn't come out of this, his father wasn't going to spend the rest of his life blaming and hating him. He needed to know that he still had a family and that they still wanted him to be a part of it.

John saw the fear and self-loathing; he could see the tremors that just barely settled in his son's hands. He let out a choked laugh, trying to comfort the boy when he, himself, was so close to falling apart, and then lifted his son into his arms again, letting Dean know without speaking that everything would eventually return to normal. He could hope anyway.

* * *

It was some time later when Dean came to his senses again, shocked to find himself curled up on his father's lap, soothed by the man's soft snores. He wasn't sure how long he had been there, but a quick glance around brought a wall clock to his attention. A little bit of work from his sleep-clouded brain told him that it was ten past four in the morning. He remembered seeing two in the afternoon on the oven's clock in the apartment and was instantly worried again. It had been over twelve hours since Sam had been hurt, and he didn't really even know where he was now.

Slowly, Dean slipped out of his father's protective embrace, a little bit mystified by the fact that the man hadn't woken. He knew from experience that his father often woke up slowly when Dean called for him in the middle of the night, but he had also seen how quickly the same man could come alert if need be. He hadn't really expected his father not to notice his escape.

With a purpose driving him, Dean stared first down one end of the corridor, and then the other. They both looked unforgiving and sterile, and the boy was unsure of which way to go. For some reason, right seemed like a good way to go, so the boy followed his instincts. He was rewarded around the corner when he found what looked like a nurses' station. The counters were high and his short stature barely made it over them, but if he stood on tiptoes, he could get his hands with enough leverage to pull himself up.

"Excuse me," Dean whispered, trying not to scare the woman with her back to him. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm looking for my brother. Do you know if they're done with him?"

Dean was shocked when red, bleary eyes turned to greet him. They looked so much like his brother's did when Sam was upset that he found himself asking her what was wrong before he knew what he was doing.

"I just found out my younger sister died, tonight. She was drunk…but how may I help you? You said you were looking for your brother?"

Dean put two and two together and gulped, hoping the woman wouldn't have heard about his outburst downstairs. He knew what it was like to feel the loss of a younger sibling, and he didn't need to make it worse for her. After all, he had gotten his brother back. She wouldn't be getting her sister back any time soon.

"Yes, ma'am. He was brought up here earlier. He'd been…hit by a car. Has anyone heard anything yet, do you know?"

"Your brother is Samuel Winchester?" Guilt crossed her own features, and she hoped that the boy in front of her wouldn't make the connection with her sister. After all, she knew what it was like to feel the loss of a younger sibling, and didn't need to make it worse for him. She looked at the computer, searching for the boy's name. "I think they're still in with him. I don't know any more than that, but I can tell you that someone will come find you and your family as soon as they're done."

Dean's arms shook in apprehension and exhaustion from holding him up for so long. "They're still working on him? Shouldn't they have fixed him by now?"

"It can take some time, kiddo. Depends on what they found. Would you like some hot chocolate or something?" She pointed to the warmer behind her, with two pots set to stay hot.

Dean nodded, knowing that he should just take the chocolate. His father didn't even know that the boy had started drinking coffee, and he didn't think the man needed to find out about _that_ just yet.

The boy wandered back to his father a few minutes later with two steaming cups, one of coffee for his father that Dean had surreptitiously taken a few sips out of, and the other for him full of Sam's favorite drink. He got back to John just as the man was waking up.

"Where have you been?" John rubbed sleep from his eyes as he noticed his oldest was no longer on his lap. He took the offered coffee and sniffed it welcomingly before sipping it.

"I went to find out about Sammy. You think he'll be okay, right Dad?"

"Of course he will, Dean. Your brother's strong, almost as strong as you are now. He'll be back to his usual self in no time; you'll see." The man's heart wasn't behind his words, however, and Dean was more nervous than he had been a few minutes ago. His father was telling the truth, wasn't he?

Dean just nodded, not willing to upset his father any more, and climbed up into the seat next to the man. He felt much younger than his twelve years and wanted nothing more than to wake up and have this all be a bad dream. He would play soccer with his brother for days straight if only it meant that none of this had ever happened.

* * *

The boy had almost drifted off again, the now-empty cup in his hand dangling precariously from his fingers, when yet another doctor sought him and his father out.

"Are you with Samuel Winchester?" Dean was getting sick of asked that. _Of course we are; do you see anyone else sitting in the abandoned hallway looking petrified? Well…I'm not petrified…just…uhh…_

He and his father both nodded, the younger one once again biting his lip as his father stood to shake the surgeon's hand.

"You have news about my son?"

The man nodded before looking at Dean. "I do. Perhaps we should talk privately?"

John's left eyebrow shot up to his hairline, confused. "I don't see anyone else here, how much more private can we…you mean Dean? No. He can stay and hear this. He needs to hear this."

The surgeon just nodded, still concerned for the small boy at his father's side. "Samuel is just being moved out of the operating room. He had some intense bleeding in his abdomen that we had to repair, and we ended up having to take out a piece of his liver; it was too badly damaged. We were able to save his spleen and tie off the wounds to his stomach and intestines. Luckily for him, we found that his appendix was becoming infected; he would have been our guest in a few days anyway it seems. He's a pretty lucky boy for what he's been through. Our orthopedic surgeon pinned both bones in his right forearm and that will heal in time; he'll have to have the pins removed in a few weeks. It seems that his arm was re-set in the field, and the paramedics that brought him in deny doing it. Whoever did so probably saved his arm. They set the bones well, and the realignment restored blood flow to his hand." The man trailed off, looking again at Dean. "You're sure you don't want to talk about this privately and then maybe censor it for your son here?"

"No. Just keep going, please. It will be faster than having to re-explain it to him."

"Your son's lung was badly damaged; I'm sure they told you that downstairs. We had to keep him on the ventilator until it has time to adequately heal, otherwise he could re-collapse it. Normally, with children this young, we will put them into medically induced comas to prevent them from waking and doing themselves more damage by frightening themselves." He paused.

"Normally?" Dean spoke up, his face taught and his eyes wide.

"In Samuel's case…"

"Sam. He's only Samuel when he's in trouble with Dad."

"Quiet, Dean. Don't interrupt him."

"In Sam's case, we can't induce a coma due to the swelling near his brain. He has a massive concussion, and the x-rays we took show the possibility of a skull fracture. They're sending him for a CT scan now to confirm, but until we know how his body is going to react to this, we can't take any more chances with him. He might not wake up if we were to force him to stay unconscious." The man lowered his voice, trying to protect Dean. "He may not wake up anyway."

Dean heard and paled, but stayed on his feet and continued listening.

"But because there is the chance that he will wake up before his lung heals, we had no choice but to put him in soft restraints. If he pulls on that tube or anything else, he could kill himself."

Dean sat back down quickly. They had to restrain his brother? His eyes were even wider than before.

"How soon until we can see him?" John asked quietly, knowing that some doctor's word wasn't going to be enough assurance for his oldest son.

"Soon. They were going to monitor him for a short time in recovery to make sure his body expels the anesthesia, and then take him up to CT before moving him to a PICU room. Someone will come get you when he's settled."

* * *

Dean was still sitting stone-faced almost an hour later when a nurse led him and his father up another three flights to the hospital intensive care unit. She led them towards the pediatric unit before stopping and turning to John.

"Are you sure you want to take your son in with you right away?" The woman looked pointedly down at the pale boy standing just in his father's shadow.

"He'll be fine. He needs to see his brother."

"You're sure?" She knew from experience how children could respond when they saw younger, and even older, siblings in this state.

"Look, my youngest son is in there, and we both want to see him."

"Your youngest son is hooked up to a lot of machines. They're doing almost everything for him right now. It's going to be scary, and not just for you. Are you sure you don't want your son to wait a few days before having to see this?"

John sighed, trying not to get annoyed with the woman. He could feel his son behind him, ready to shoot off his mouth and get himself into trouble. "Lady. My oldest boy has seen more in his twelve years than you will probably ever see. When he was four and a half, his mother was murdered in Sam's bedroom. Sam probably would have been killed too, but Dean got him out and protected him. It's been his job to protect his brother since then, and he takes the job very seriously. He's also afraid of losing the boy like he lost his mother. The longer he can't see Sammy, the more damage that's going to occur here, not the other way around. Now, if you still don't think he should go in there and be reassured that his brother is indeed alive and is going to be just fine, then you tell him yourself." John reached behind him and scooted Dean around so that he faced the nurse.

The woman looked down into the boy's eyes and saw the fear there. Fear that she was going to call his father's bluff and tell him not to go in. All he wanted was to see his brother, wanted to hold his little hand and make a thousand promises to never treat his brother like this again. He had been surprised at his father's description of Mary's death. He knew well enough that 'my wife was mutilated by some demon' wouldn't go over well; he, too, had been lying about his mother's death since he learned his father's story. He was surprised that John had left his own part of Sam's rescue out.

He smiled grimly when the nurse simply turned and headed to 713, opening the door for them and watching as they slowly entered the brightly colored room. The door shutting behind Dean was so loud that he physically jumped. He could see the small form that was his brother lying in the bed, could hear the monitors that kept watch and the ventilator that breathed for him. When Dean saw the soft restraints, he felt a single tear come to his eye, but he wiped it away quickly. His father had said that crying would only make Sam worse, and Dean could never do that, would never be able to do that.

Setting his resolve, the boy walked forward with his father, pulling up one of the room's comfortable chairs as close as he could to Sam's left side, and gently took his baby brother's hand into his own. Sam looked so small compared to everything in the room and Dean buried his face in his elbow, not wanting to see how fragile his brother was. He wanted nothing more than for all of this to be over, for all of it to have never happened.

Dean looked up again when he heard a noise come from his father. He saw a tear escape from each of the man's eyes and was shocked. He had never once seen John Winchester cry.

But the tears were gone as quickly as they had come, and Dean wasn't sure that he hadn't imagined them.

"He's gonna be okay, Dad. You'll see."

John laughed quietly. "I know, Dean. I know."

TBC…

* * *

**_Hey look at that, I am capable of ending a chapter without a cliffie...holy...but does that mean that next chapter will have to be twice as bad then? We shall see! Remember to review..._**


	6. Something Not Quite Right

**_There is a reference made to Good Will Hunting twice in this chapter. I don't pretend to own that either..._**

**_Remember, there wasn't _really_ a cliffie last chapter so..._**_**

* * *

**_

Chapter 5

As the hours grew longer and the night slowly gave way to the dawn, Dean sat and watched his brother's chest rise and fall. He watched his father's chest rise and fall as well, wondering how it was that the man could sleep when his youngest son was tethered to a bed, incapable of breathing on his own, and had come that close to death. The older boy could find no respite from his guilt, and so he kept watch over Sam, intent on keeping anything from disturbing him. If he ignored the wires and tubes, the stark white bandages and tape, and the pale skin that peeked out from under the gauze, it looked like his brother was simply sleeping.

But Dean knew better. He knew that Sam rarely slept on his back, 'preferring' to be plagued with nightmares until his head ended up pillowed on his brother's thigh. He knew that the boy's hands were usually clenched around a small stuffed fox that Dean had given him for his seventh birthday. And if that weren't enough, every time Dean closed his eyes, he was painfully brought forced to see Sam flying through the air and landing haphazardly on the ground some feet away.

The older boy sighed, squeezed his baby brother's fingers more tightly for an instant, reminding Sam that he was there, and lay his head back down on the bed. He was subconsciously counting the number of breaths he took and then comparing it to the number Sam took. He found the comparison soothing, and he soon found himself being lulled to sleep.

Dean was woken by two distinct voices arguing. He easily recognized his father's voice and was instantly alert. The boy hadn't recognized the female voice, but that didn't mean it wasn't a threat, and he sought his father for confirmation that he shouldn't be running for the pistols in the car.

"I don't care what your rules say! I am NOT leaving my son alone to wake up by himself in some strange room with a tube down his throat. You don't know my boy; you don't know what that would do to him. He's only eight years old for Christ's sake!"

Dean slid into a now familiar position, just behind and to the right of his father; protecting his brother without even realizing it. He tried to figure out why they were arguing about staying with Sam.

"Sir, I know that you are concerned about Samuel, but we only allow visiting hours from ten to noon and from five to seven. We've already stretched those rules to let you stay last night. You need to think of your other son. Take him home, get him cleaned up, and come back later. Sam will still be here; we are perfectly well-equipped to handle any emergency that arises."

"You don't understand. My son has panic attacks; they've always been triggered by not knowing where either Dean or I are. You won't be able to calm him down if we aren't here, and the doctor said that he could kill himself if he stresses out his lungs. We aren't leaving."

"At least call someone to take your other son out of here for a little bit?"

"I'm not leaving Sammy. No way lady, it isn't happening. I'm staying right here until he wakes up. I need to." Dean turned to his father. "You won't let them make me leave, will you Dad?"

John shook his head no. "Look, we aren't leaving Sammy. You're wasting your time with this."

"I can call security."

"You don't want to try that, believe me; it won't do any good." Dean glared. _Don't you realize that visiting hours aren't for us? Those are for normal people. We need to see that Sammy's all right; I need to know that he's all right. I can't do that if I can't see him. I swear lady; I'll get myself hit by a car of my own if it means staying with Sammy._

"Dean, be quiet. Go check on your brother." John glared at the boy; what part of 'don't show off your advantage too early' didn't he get?

Dean nodded and headed back to the padded chair that he swore would have his imprint in it before long. He climbed up into it, sitting on his knees and grasping his brother's hand with his own. _Why can't she just see that I need Sammy as much as he needs me right now?_

The boy heard voices rising again, but there was nothing else he could do about it, so he concentrated on Sam's breathing again. He had completely shut everything else out when he felt his father's hand on his own. Dean looked up to see several security guards standing at the doorway, none of them looking too happy about having to kick a twelve-year old and his father out of the PICU room.

"We're just going to go home and get Todd for Sam, get you some clean clothes and some food, and then we'll be back. It'll be all right, Dean, I promise you." John looked heartbroken at having to separate his boys, and looked downright distraught when he saw Dean's eyes. There was fear there, and guilt; those hadn't left him since Sam had been hit. But now there was absolute hatred and anger, as well as dejection and an utterly forlorn look in them. To him, it seemed that despite the myriad of emotions in his son's eyes, the boy was hollow inside. He had been one half of a pair for so long that he didn't know what to do without it.

Dean wondered what had made his father so unsure of himself that he was going to go down without a fight. He figured, however, that if whatever it was was stronger than his father, then he had no chance against it. Blinking away tears again, swearing that he wouldn't cry, the boy nodded and bit his lip, leaned over his brother and laid a light kiss on his forehead and swiped the long blond locks from his forehead, and got up from the chair.

"We'll be back soon, Sammy; I promise you that," Dean whispered as he allowed himself to be led towards the door.

They hadn't made it ten feet down the corridor when the two Winchesters heard the monitors in Sam's room go off. Eyes wide, they raced the doctors back to the small room.

Dean was held back by two burly security guards as the doctors pushed past him into the room. They spoke frantically about Sam's heart rate skyrocketing, and adrenaline causing his lungs to overwork. Dean stomped his foot down the man's shin to his left, and twisted his arm out of the other man's grip. He bolted to his brother's side, ducking under a doctor's grasp and jumping back into his chair. Glaring at the nurse who had just previously tried to rip him from his brother's room, the boy stroked Sam's head and tangled his fingers in his brother's.

"Sammy, no, I'm sorry. So sorry, Sammy; we aren't going anywhere. Don't worry, kiddo; we're right here, me and Daddy both. Don't worry, Sammy boy, just calm down for me and go back to sleep okay? I'll be right here." Dean kept repeating himself over and over as Sam's heartbeat slowed and his back settled against the bed once more. The older boy hadn't taken a breath since running to Sam's side, and when he was sure his kid brother was all right again, he panted at the exertion and glared at everyone around him. "_This_ is why we don't leave him alone. Visiting hours mean _nothing_ to us."

* * *

So it was that three days later, neither Dean nor his father had changed or done much more than wash their faces in the adjacent bathroom, making sure that one of them was always at Sam's side. They were oblivious to the comings and goings of the various doctors and nurses, listening only half-concerned when any of them tried to talk to either of them, and concentrating solely on willing the boy in the bed to wake. 

Sometime earlier that morning, the doctors had finally concurred that if Sam continued to improve over the next six hours they would remove the ventilator, and as the time approached, Dean found himself more and more nervous.

"Dad?"

"Hmm…yeah Dean?" John was barely awake, having taken the night shift watching the two boys sleep and condemning himself to what he was putting them through.

"What did Sam's teacher say a couple of weeks ago? About him goofing off in class?" He said this as he stared at the textbook his teacher had brought by. The book was untouched in the corner of the room.

"He's being disruptive and not paying attention. Sounds like we have another Dean in the family. I hadn't gotten the chance to talk to him yet. Figure we'll be moving on again now that this poltergeist is taken care of anyway."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his brother. "I don't think that's it, Dad. As much as I'd love him to be on my side about us being in school being pointless, I don't think he'll ever think that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" how to get around this without getting in trouble for pawning his homework off on the younger boy? "I think we may have a resident genius in the family." _There, just say it and maybe he won't ask too many questions._

"And how do you figure that?"

_Damn._ "I…uhh…I found him doing my math problems the other day when you were off working. He's really good at them, Dad. I don't think he's just not paying attention in school; I think he's just bored."

The conversation was halted as two doctors came in, looking overly official with their matching lab coats and clipboards. They made a show of checking all of Sam's vital signs, jotting things down and conversing quietly between themselves. Dean was on edge, unsure of what was really going on.

"His vital signs are looking good. We're a bit concerned that he hasn't tried to wake up yet, but all things considered, that may be the best thing for him right now. We're going to try taking him off the ventilator now and see how he handles that. We'll need the two of you to back away for a few minutes." The men had both been warned at the apparent consequences of making them leave.

John nodded, pulling Dean to the far corner of the room, and holding him steady in front of him. He could tell that the boy wanted more than anything to hold his brother's hand through this, but he wouldn't let his oldest son be in the way.

It all happened so quickly. The tube had been pulled and Sam's eyes had opened instantaneously; his still-blue orbs darting around wildly and his arms pulling hard against the restraints. He had spent the first few moments coughing forcefully; sounds that grated on Dean's ears as it felt like his own throat was raw and stinging as Sam's must. Small, strangled cries had come from his throat, words still far from forming, and Dean could see Sam clutching at the blankets, at the steel guard rails. He was tossing and turning on the bed, trying to break free; neither Winchester had ever seen him so frightened.

Dean pulled at his father's arms, unable to get free, and called out to Sam. He watched as the doctor with his back to him lifted a syringe and eased it into the boy's IV line. The eight-year old went limp almost immediately, and the monitors returned to normal.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" Dean was still pulling at his father, the one person whose hold he had never been able to break. His arms were crossed in front of him, his wrists each grabbed by one of John's hands. He was sure that this was what being in a straightjacket felt like.

"Don't worry, kid. His body is still too weak to deal with any adrenaline increases, so we had to sedate him. It's just like he's in a coma now; he's fine."

"They said that it was too dangerous to medically induce a coma for him! You're going to kill him!" Dean sagged against his father, hoping that the doctor's would tell him he was wrong.

"Don't worry about it, kid." Dean rolled his eyes in spite of his worry. "He just woke up; you saw that yourself. So we aren't worried about the concussion any more. His brain is quite capable of waking him up when it needs to, so now we can do its work for him, and let him heal. He should be fine now." The younger of the doctors undid the last buckle on the restraints, coiling them both in his hand and handing his clipboard to his colleague to co-sign. The two left without allowing any more questions and both ruffled Dean's hair as they did so. Dean scowled.

* * *

Dean wasn't really sure when he had fallen asleep; sometime after he had raced back to Sam's side and made sure for himself that his brother was breathing fine on his own. There were slight wheezes coming from the boy's lips, but they didn't sound too bad, and John hadn't worried about them. Dean, however, was indeed worried. He couldn't quite put his finger on it; it wasn't the wheezing, Sam had sounded like that when he had been sick last winter, and he was just fine. Something had thrown Dean off when Sam had woken, though, and he wanted to figure out what it was. 

Sometime after that, Dean knew he had eaten the slice of pizza that his brother's day nurse had slipped him. She had even brought him a few comic books earlier in the week, and Dean was finding himself really starting to like her. It seemed to him that she was the only one who actually cared about, not just for, his brother and family; and it didn't hurt that he thought she was easily the most attractive one on the staff.

But now, Dean was caught in the throes of a nightmare, and he wasn't even sure he remembered where he had fallen asleep.

_The woods were dark and silent. The boys were both immediately on edge. He didn't know why they were there, only that he didn't seem to have any weapons with him, and that couldn't be helpful. He wasn't sure why his brother was there either; Sam wasn't old enough to hunt yet. He heard a howling in the distance, followed by a scream that pierced his ears, and a laugh that sent shivers up and down his spine. All the boy knew was that they needed to get out of there and quickly. He pulled on his brother's hand and then they were running through the trees, calling for their father and hoping they could make it out to the safety of the Impala. He never noticed when his brother started to lag behind, definitely couldn't see his brother trip over the log. But he heard the shout for help and turned on a dime, calling out for his father to help him find the one he'd lost. A familiar feeling of dread settled in his stomach and…_

Dean woke up with Sam's name threatening to erupt from his lips. The older boy was shaking and had to physically look at the hand he still clasped to assure himself that it had truly been a dream. He hadn't dreamt about this in almost six years, but the images were so fresh that they hurt him.

The boy looked to see his father curled in the small easy chair in the corner of the room, knowing that as long as the man was there nothing could hurt either of the boys, but still he was frightened. He kept watch on his father as he stood up; stretching out his now seldom-used legs, and placed his brother's hand almost reverently by his side. Catching his breath finally, Dean pulled down the guard rail and carefully climbed up next to Sam. The bed was slightly raised at the boy's head, and Dean situated himself there, careful of the wiring, curling around Sam's head and laying his hand lightly on his brother's chest. He was comforted by the easy rise and fall and soon found himself being lulled to sleep again. He couldn't lose his brother; not ever.

* * *

Dean felt the hand lightly lying on his back before he registered that he was waking up. He groaned and opened his eyes, oblivious to the light that was streaming down on him again. Cindy, his favorite nurse, was standing over him, lightly shaking his shoulder. 

"Dean, sweetheart; I need you to wake up for me."

Dean groaned again and pouted, but raised his head at the smell of coffee.

"If you get off Sammy's bed for me, I'll make sure your father thinks this is hot chocolate, Dean. Come on, kiddo."

Dean smiled and rolled off the bed, taking the coveted liquid and sitting in the chair, still unwilling to stray far from his brother's side. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm going to check his stitches; it's been almost ten days, so most of them can probably come out. Then I'll clean him up a little and be done, and you can go back to sleep up here." She smiled warmly at the boy.

"I was just…in case he needed me…you know?" Dean's cheeks were flush red now.

"Of course. He needs his brother close by to know he's safe." She quickly pulled down Sam's gown and carefully peeled back the gauze padding.

Dean then saw for the first time just how many stitches his brother had from this whole mess. He bit back a quiet gasp and bit his lip. He had to stifle a grimace of pain when he realized that all the worrying he had done on his lip had given him a canker sore. He silently berated himself for caring about the small inconvenience when his brother's whole chest was a roadmap of cuts and incisions.

He watched, enthralled, as every one of the stitches was thankfully removed, and then as Cindy very softly cleaned off his brother's chest and face. She pulled the gown from the bed and began to replace it with another one from the room's cupboard.

"Umm…" he didn't want to seem like an inconvenience.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Do you have one of those things that maybe doesn't have clowns on it?"

"Why?"

"Umm…Sammy's kind of petrified of them. I don't want him to wake up and see them." Something made Dean pause at that and think of his weird feeling from the day before, but he pushed it away.

"Sure. I know Halloween's gone by, but there's one with jack-o-lanterns?"

"Well…sure, that's fine I guess."

"Dean?"

"We don't really do Halloween, but it's fine."

"Oh. Here's one with race cars. How about that?"

Dean grinned. "That's perfect."

* * *

Late that afternoon found Dean curled up on his brother's bed once more, staring at the new comic book. He was shocked out of his daze when the head under his own jolted. 

"Sammy?" The boy held his breath.

"Dean?" The small voice was music to Dean's ears.

"I'm right here, Sammy. It's gonna be okay now." Dean was concerned when he felt his brother's chest rise and fall more quickly beneath his fingers. "Sammy? Sam, what's wrong? What is it? I'm sorry for..."

"Dean?" The older boy watched as Sam lifted his small left hand to his face, stopping it just in front of his eyes and then proceeding to swipe at them, pulling each eyelid down and letting it come back open.

"Dean, I can't...I can't see."

TBC…

* * *

**_There. Look, see I made Sammy wake up, so everything's better now. Right? There's a good ending here, and everything is just fine, right? I could totally end the story here and everyone would be perfectly happy? Yes? Why are you all looking at me like that? - Hides behind a large horde of attack dogs in acave in a remote location...an unihabited one- I'll update soon I hope...should be okay with a normal posting schedule as long as I finish this up before Christmas hits..._**


	7. What Happens Now?

**_Sorry this took so long guys, I kind of got caught up in everything not related to Supernatural these past few days. But there should be 2...with a slight possibility of 3 chapters left, depending on how the last little twist goes, and then you'll have the complete story...and I think I already have an idea for my next one...-grins evilly-_**

**_Enjoy..._**

* * *

Chapter 6

Sam's fear-filled confession rocked Dean as it hit him like a ton of bricks. He now knew what had seemed so off when Sam had woken for that instant a few days before. As scared as he was, as angry as he may yet become at Dean; when he had been looking for comfort, his eyes had passed over Dean and his father, but they had never locked onto anything. There had been nothing for the boy to see to calm him. No wonder he had been thrashing so violently.

The youngest Winchester screwed his eyes as tightly closed as he could and then burst them wide open, hoping to catch something…anything…in his line of vision. There was nothing. Whimpering quietly, the boy clenched onto his brother's hand so tightly that he was sure he was going to leave bruises. Or he would have been sure; if he had been able to think of anything other than the blackness that was surrounding him. It was tightening its hold on him, gripping him so fully in it's clutches that the only thing he was sure of was Dean's hand on his chest. But he could feel his older brother's longer fingers tensing as well, and fear struck him more deeply. Dean was never afraid of anything.

But then the guardian was aware of his baby brother's plight and was instantly feigning calm for him, relaxing his fingers and smoothing Sam's locks. He whispered softly to the boy while his eyes sought out their father. John motioned towards the door, signaling that he was going for one of Sam's doctors. Dean nodded and continued to reassure both Sam and himself as well.

"Shh, Sammy. It's going to be all right now. It's okay, don't worry about it. Just keep your eyes shut for a minute and then you can pretend it's just really dark in here, okay?"

Sam tensed and his head swung towards the sound of the door closing. His breath caught in his throat and he could feel himself beginning to shake.

"It's just Dad, Sammy. He's going to find your doctors to let them know you're awake. You've been a sleep for a long time, little brother."

Sam tried to nod, but it came out frantic and betrayed more of his fear. It was beginning to stake its claim on him, and he could feel his breaths starting to grow shorter.

"Oh no you don't, Sammy. Breathe for me kid, come on." Dean carefully lifted his little brother's head and shoulders, scooting himself behind the smaller boy and enveloping him in the largest hug he could manage while still making sure not to aggravate any injuries. He felt some of the tension leave his brother and allowed himself a small smile at staving off the panic attack.

Sam contented himself to sit in his brother's embrace the way he was for only a moment before whipping his body to his right and burying his head into Dean's shoulder. His left hand left his brother's and wrapped into the older boy's shirt, and his right tried to do the same. He was concerned when the appendage wouldn't work exactly as planned.

"Dean? What's wrong with me?" Sam mumbled into his brother's shoulder, sniffling as he did so.

For his part, the older brother acted perfectly to Sam's new position; repositioning his arms so that his right came up and gripped Sam's shoulder, and the left came around and began rubbing slow circles on the boy's back. He heard the question and tensed a little. Now that his brother was awake, he wasn't sure he was ready for this conversation.

"What do you remember, Sammy?"

"I remember…the car. And the ball. And you coming to rescue me…like always," Dean could feel his brother's smile through his shirtsleeve. "I…I don't remember anything after that."

Dean had to bite his lip when Sam glossed over why the ball was in the street in the first place, but he knew he only had a limited amount of private time with his brother and didn't need both of them to have broken down when their father got back. _Not that I break down of course, but…_ Dean's thoughts trailed off when Sam sniffled again.

"You were hurt pretty badly, Sammy. God, I thought I'd…I thought you were…you've been out for almost two weeks, little brother. You're pretty busted up and you're going to have some cool battle scars from this one. You've got a cast on your arm and leg, and when you get off whatever pain meds you're on, your ribs aren't gonna 'preciate you being curled up like this."

"What else?" Sam may have been young, but he knew that his brother wouldn't be that tense over a couple broken bones and a concussion.

"Sam…you almost…God, you almost…I…you're gonna be okay now, kid. That's all that matters, okay? We'll just…figure out the rest as it comes, all right?"

Sam nodded, hearing the tell-tale crack in his brother's voice and he knew it must have been bad. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I'm scared." The admission was a whisper and was accompanied by a tightening of his hold on Dean, as if he needed to hold on to his place in the world.

"I know, kiddo. They'll fix it, you'll see." Dean lightly kissed the top of his brother's head, pulling him in a little closer to assure himself that this was really real, and shot his head up as the door opened again.

Ever in big brother mode, Dean leaned down and whispered who had just entered to his brother, hoping to ease some of Sam's fear.

The pediatrician introduced himself as Mack to Sam, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder below Dean's hand to let the child feel his presence. He explained step-by-step what he was doing as he first checked over Sam's other injuries, and then began to look at Sam's eyes. When he was done, Mack turned to John and explained to him that they were going to send for a CT scan to gauge the damage before making any judgments. Dean's eyes widened slightly, knowing that the imaging meant that Sam was going to be alone for a bit, but he didn't let his fear show to the younger boy.

After the test was called for, Sam was wheeled up to the Radiology suite, Dean still holding onto him protectively. Outside the doors, Mack turned once again to Sam.

"I bet you're the bravest one in your family, aren't you Sam?" Mack hoped the boy would be confident and make this easier. He should have known better.

"No way. Dean's the bravest one, easy." A genuine smile lit Sam's face for a moment and John was heartened slightly by it.

To his credit, Mack didn't miss a beat. "I'll bet you want to be just like him, though. Am I right?"

Sam nodded vigorously, leaning slightly more into his brother as he did so.

"And I'll bet that Dean wouldn't be scared of having to get a CT scan, now would he?"

Sam wasn't as quick to answer this time, starting to see where this was headed. "I have to do this by myself, don't I?" The timbre of his voice had changed, not sure he wanted to handle the dark by himself just yet. Dean's heart plummeted at the quiver in his brother's words.

"Yeah, I'm afraid you do, son. But Dean is going to be in the next room with me the whole time, and you can talk to him all you want, as long as you don't move your head, okay?"

The nod wasn't quite as forthcoming, and nowhere near as vigorous this time, and Dean had to turn away from the adults to compose himself. These past weeks had been a rude awakening to the older boy; showing him just how little he could really protect Sam from.

"Just think about it like hide and seek, Sammy. When you like to hide in the closet and stay really still so I don't find you. And as soon as you're done I'll call 'olly olly ox and free' and you can sit up. How's that?" Dean looked to the doctor and his father for confirmation, seeing the latter beaming with pride.

John had been a bit put off that none of the three were trying to include him in this, but then again, wasn't that how he was trying to shape the boys? To be independent of him should they lose him like they lost their mother?

* * *

By the time Dean had called the all-clear, Sam was a little bit more accustomed to the dark and felt a little less claustrophobic about it. That wasn't to say he wasn't overjoyed when he felt Dean's hand in his again, but he had made it through this, and Winchesters were survivors after all. His brother had said this would be fixed, and Dean never lied to him.

* * *

The boys were laughing and attempting a thumb war when Mack found the little family the next day with the results. He motioned for John to follow him outside, and the two adults left. Sam didn't realize the man had entered, but felt Dean's hand slacken slightly. He took the advantage for what it was, pinning his brother's thumb and grinning triumphantly.

"1-2-3-4, I won the thumb war! Dean? Hey, Earth to Dean? Come in, Dean." Sam started to get nervous when his brother hadn't demanded a rematch immediately.

"Shh, Sammy. Your doctor just took Dad outside." Dean's eyes were glued to the door, waiting for the men to come back in and tell him his brother would be back to normal soon.

* * *

"We got the results back, Mr. Winchester. It looks like there's some swelling around Sam's optic nerve. It's not terribly uncommon in serious head injuries like Sam had, and we could have caught it sooner if he had not been unconscious for so long."

"Swelling? So that will go away, right? He'll be okay?"

"You need to remember that even now he's okay, Mr. Winchester. He needs to know that in case this doesn't turn out well. The swelling will go down, yes. But there may be some damage to the nerve that is causing the swelling. His sight could come back in a few days, a few weeks or months…or…"

"Never." The word was whispered and accompanied by an almost broken look towards his son's door. _How can Sam_ _hunt and protect himself if he can't see what's coming after him?_

"It is a possibility that you and your sons have to prepare for. There are plenty of things he can still do, that he'll learn to be able to do. Some days, you may even find yourself forgetting that he can't see…should his sight not return that is."

"The odds?"

"With the time frame and the extent of the swelling, it's anybody's guess right now. It all depends on him, really. What his body can and can't handle. He'll be okay, Mr. Winchester. One way or another." Mack paused. "I have some prescriptions for him, and a pair of dark sunglasses. It's imperative that he wear these anywhere it's going to be even a little bit bright…more than a reading lamp."

"But he can't see anyway."

"I know that, sir. We need to rest his eyes and let that nerve heal as much as we can. The more light his eyes take in, the more taxed out the nerve becomes, the longer it takes to heal."

John nodded. "When can I take him home?"

"I'd like to keep him a few more nights for observation. He's bounced back faster than almost any coma patient I've ever seen, and I think a lot of credit for that goes to your older son. He's really helped Sam figure out that this can all work out well, and Sam's injuries have had plenty of time to heal in the past two weeks. He's going to feel weak for a while, but keeping him here may only worsen that. He seems very active."

John thought of the self-defense sessions held daily with the two boys, even in his absence, and had to laugh at the thought of his youngest being just 'active'. He made active children look docile.

* * *

Sam's spirits had dropped slightly when his father had explained that he may never see again, but the father had padded the odds to a ten percent chance that he wouldn't regain his sight, and both boys were hopeful.

Then John had handed Sam the sunglasses he had to don. The plastic eyewear felt bulky and square in his hands, and the youngest's lip had curled. Both his brother and his father could see the boy picturing the glasses in his head, something that he was slowly learning to do.

"They're old."

John laughed. "Mack assured me that they're brand new, Sammy."

"No. I know that. They lo…they…" Sam struggled to put out a word that didn't involve sight. "Old people should be wearing these. Not me."

Dean laughed and ruffled his brother's hair, glad that his kid brother couldn't see the look of guilt that crossed his features as Sam had flinched, unable to anticipate the rough housing. "If you wear them until we get home, Sammy, I'll give you the ones I found. How's that sound?"

Sam grinned and hooked the earpieces around his head. "Okay, big brother. But remember, you promised, so no backing out when we get home."

* * *

They spent the next three days dealing with Sam's newfound handicap: Dean reading the comic books to him, playing thumb wars and arm wrestling, and helping him to relearn how to use utensils; and John staying off to the side, ready to help his boys if he was needed. He didn't really know how to handle Sam's adaptability to this, but he was more concerned that once they left the sanctity of the hospital, every evil thing that he, himself, saw coming after the boys in his dreams would have one more weakness to exploit. He knew how to teach the boys to shoot and melt silver and wield knives, but how would he teach Sam to be strong again now? The boy knew how to fight what wasn't really there, but how would he be able to fight what he couldn't see? It would take a leap of faith that he wasn't sure any of the Winchesters had in them.

Sam sat anxiously on the edge of the bed as a nurse cut the bulky plaster cast from his leg. He heard the whirring of the blades, and if he hadn't been able to feel his brother's hand on his shoulder, the boy may have been more panicked. As it was, he was swearing vehemently in his head that he wouldn't move a muscle, despite Cindy's repeated assurances that it could never cut him. Both boys sighed as Sam's stiff ankle was wiggled around for a few minutes before being recasted in lighter fiberglass, with an arch in the bottom so that Sam could walk, halted as it would be.

When the cast had dried, Cindy had told Sam he could get up and try walking around a little bit. Everyone in the room could see the boy visibly tense. It was his last hurdle before being allowed to go home.

Sam stared straight ahead, trying as hard as he could to see something…anything. Being wheeled around the hospital for the past few days completely in the dark had been bad enough, but now everyone wanted him to actually stumble around in it; Sam wasn't sure he could take those steps.

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Sam started to slide off the bed. He had only made it a few inches, his feet still dangling in the air, when he started to whimper. With nothing to gauge how far he had to go, Sam felt as if he was falling off a cliff.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered, "only a few more inches. That's it, there's the floor." The older brother hopped off the bed next to his younger counterpart and grasped his shoulder. "I'm right here, little brother. Nothing's going to get in your way now. Just a few steps now."

Sam's anxiety was instantly gone when his brother's hand steadied him. His steps were sure, if not awkward, and he found that the limp from not being able to bend his knee was only slightly limiting. Another grin broke out on his face as the dark didn't seem quite as scary now, and he found himself wrapped in his family's arms.

"I'm proud of you, Sammy," a young voice whispered in one ear.

Nothing came from the other. What good did a few steps do the boy? John was ecstatic to see his boy come out of this relatively uncrippled, but he was still in danger. There would be time to praise Sam when he found out how to defeat ghosts and demons the way he had just conquered his room.

Sam's heart dropped. His father didn't care.

* * *

A few hours later, Sam was being wheeled through the emergency room to a chorus of cheers. Each person who had worked on him the two weeks previous had bet that the boy was doomed when he had left their care, and were now pleasantly surprised to see him protesting having to sit in the wheelchair as they left. Emily's mother had given John a lift to pick up the Impala an hour ago, and now Dean was wheeling his brother towards the door and their ride 'home'.

It had taken only a few seconds for Sam to be maneuvered into the back seat and strapped in, and from there on out the three expected clear skies and smooth sailing. They didn't expect anything else to go wrong.

But then John had raced the engine out of habit. It was the first time either boy had really heard a car since Sam had been hit, and neither one was prepared for their heart to clench with it. Dean swallowed his fear quickly, knowing that if the sound of the car had spooked him, his brother must be petrified.

Petrified didn't begin to cover the terror that gripped Sam. He could feel his lungs beginning to seize on him as the Impala's engine purring morphed into tires screeching. The boy began to shake as he felt the car moving beneath him and backing out of the parking garage. He heard himself begin to squeak as his shoulders shot up and down, trying desperately to pull oxygen through his fear. He wanted to reach out to his brother or father, desperate for someone to help him, but his arms felt like they had every duffle bag full of his father's weapons stacked on top of them.

Dean heard the squeaking as soon as they started, however, and so did his father.

"Get him calmed down, Dean. Now! We can't afford him to have a panic attack now. These have got to stop if he's ever going to hunt with us."

"He may never hunt with us anyway, Dad," Dean whispered, thankful that he knew from talking to Sam that the boy couldn't hear them right now anyway. He rubbed circles on his brother's back and hugged him close, feeling his brother's fear soak his sleeve as tears fell. It took longer than his father usually managed, but Sam fell into a light sleep none the less. Dean only hoped it was last until they could get him tucked in in the safety of his own bed.

* * *

TBC… 


	8. Home at last

**_Sorry this took so long, guys. But real life and Christmas and every single plot bunny in the world bit me in the...yeah...all at once, and this managed to get pushed aside...but it's back in front now, and I believe there are 2 chapters left after this one...with the last one being more like an epilogue type thing...so, anyway...without further ado..._**

* * *

Chapter 7

Thankfully, John had made it back to their apartment complex and had his son cradled in his arms before the boy started to stir again. The small family was two flights up when small eyes opened and a whimper escaped Sam. The feeling of weightlessness unnerved the boy, and he couldn't help the small sign of 'weakness' that he made.

"It's okay, Sammy. I've got you."

"Daddy?" The timid voice quivered and alerted Dean to his brother's state of consciousness.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Hey, little brother. We're almost home."

The two Winchesters had spoken at the same time and in the dark, Sam was finding it difficult to separate the two. He was content for the time being to know that it meant his father and brother were both there, and he waited patiently for their destination.

When Dean had unlocked the apartment door, the family was faced with the idea of getting their lives back together again. John's first order of business was to get himself cleaned up and get his boys some real food. He carried Sam into the boys' bedroom and laid him down, watching as his son instinctively reached for the small stuffed fox. Only when it was clutched in his arms did the boy seem to relax.

" Dean. Watch your brother. I'm not sure what food there is left here, so I'm going to go shower and then head to the store. Do you have enough salt? Ammo?"

Dean nodded affirmatively to both, checking to make sure his handgun was still under his pillow, and sat on his brother's bed, smoothing the boy's hair. " Sleep, Sammy. You're safe here." The directions were whispered gently, and the teenager was rewarded when his brother's eyes slid shut. "He'll be all right with me, Dad. We'll be here when you get back."

John had heard the determination in his eldest son's voice, once again cursing himself and whatever evil had chosen his family for this life, and headed for the bathroom without another look back. If Dean was going to heal from this as well, he needed to know that his father still trusted him.

* * *

Every time Sam awoke now, it was like another slap in the face. When he was asleep, it was easy to forget that he would wake to darkness, and the smallest glimmer of hope that exists in all children was squashed more and more each time he opened his eyes. The only constant he had now was his brother. He knew that no matter what happened, Dean would be there for him and because of that, everything would turn out all right. After all, the older boy had promised him it would be.

Sam was aware of his other senses trying to compensate for their lost counterpart. Unfortunately, that meant that his sense of smell was more keen, and he could still smell the hospital on both himself and his brother.

" Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"You smell. Bad." The boy hid his nose under his arm. "When was the last time you showered? Or…" he felt Dean's back, "changed clothes?"

Dean snickered and rolled his eyes. "I'll clean up as soon as Dad gets back, little brother."

"Please go shower, Dean. You smell like some homeless guy hiding out in a hospital. I'll be okay. And you owe me a pair of sunglasses." The boy crossed his arms as well as he was able to and pouted.

"So I did, Sammy boy. Here." Dean watched as the glasses were exchanged, almost laughing when he saw how big the new ones were on his baby brother's face. "I'm just gonna wait for Dad, Sammy."

" Dean. I promise I won't move an inch off this bed until you come back. Or I'll go sit on the floor of the bathroom if that will make you feel better. I don't want to smell that hospital any more. Please?" The look Sam gave Dean made the boy cave almost instantly. There was little to defend against the puppy dog look.

"You won't move off this bed? You swear on Mom?"

Sam's eyes widened a little at the severity of that promise. "I swear on Mom that I won't move from this bed unless it's a real emergency until you get back."

Dean let out a sigh and when he breathed in again, he caught a whiff of what his brother was complaining about. "All right, but I'm putting salt around your bed and I want you to hold my gu…knife. Okay?"

Sam nodded and took the offered weapon by the handle. It felt comfortable in his palm and eased the anxiety he was trying to hide at being alone again.

"I'll be quick, I swear Sammy. And then we'll figure some way to get you cleaned up too."

"You are NOT giving me a bath! I can do it myself."

Dean chuckled, glad that Sam's independence was returning again. "We'll figure something out, little brother. Now, I'll be right back."

* * *

Sam found his confidence slowly leaving him as the room quieted and he was left to his own thoughts. He knew that he was helpless if something came to get him, not being able to do anything other than hope whatever it was would try and grab him first. He had no doubts about his ability to hold whatever it was off until Dean could come help him if that was the case, but other than that, he was up a creek.

It felt to Sam that the room chilled a little bit, and he was more tense than he could ever remember being. The hilt of Dean's knife was clutched so tightly that it was hurting Sam's palm, and his other hand slowly hid Todd under his covers. The boy held his breath and listened, trying to picture their room and catch hold of something that shouldn't be there.

Sam thought he could hear cloth shifting and gulped. "D… Dean? Are you there?" he whispered, whipping his head back and forth as if it would help him. "This isn't funny, Dean." He stopped, angry at himself. He knew better than to think it was his brother; he could almost feel the guilt pouring off the older boy, and knew that Dean wouldn't be playing a joke on him when he felt that badly about what had happened.

"Whoever you are…whatever you are, you'd better get out of here before my brother gets back." Sam's voice quivered and he found himself pulling back to the corner of his bed. He drew his knees to his chest and swore that he wouldn't cry. The boy was almost shivering, and he was sure that something was in the room with him. He could even imagine the smell of ozone that his father had begun to tell him about. But as time went on and nothing else happened, the boy started to see that he was being a baby and started to relax.

* * *

Dean opened the door warily and called out to his brother so that he wouldn't frighten the boy. Sam looked fine outwardly, but the older Winchester felt like something was off with him, though his brother swore he was all right. Not knowing what had made him feel so off, Dean shrugged it away and pulled on his own clean clothes for the first time in far too long.

The older brother stared at Sam for a full minute. " Sammy, I know you think you can take a bath all by yourself, but you've got to face it, kid. You can't get either your arm or your leg wet at all, and you won't be able to…see…how close they are to the water. We can wait for Dad, or I can help you. It's up to you, but now that I'm clean, you can't blame the stink on me."

Sam nodded. "But I'm wearing my swim trunks! I'm not a baby anymore, and…yeah."

Dean snickered. He could still remember helping their father give Sam a bath when he was really little, but he neglected to mention that. If it made Sam feel more 'grown up', then he would by all means find the swimsuit.

* * *

Half an hour and a mopping session later found two soggy boys sitting once again in their bedroom. Sam was trying to figure out what shirt Dean had dressed him in, glad at the moment that he didn't have a sister around for his brother to steal clothing from. Dean was trying to look contemplative.

" Sammy. I think we should…tour the apartment."

"What? What for? It's not the first time we've been in it, Dean."

"I know. But maybe we can figure out a system so that you can walk around here and not walk into the wall or something."

Sam smiled and nodded, eager to try anything that would make him feel more 'normal'. He slid off his bed and waited for Dean's arm.

Dean took his brother's hand and turned him so he faced the door. "Feel this, Sammy? If you position yourself so that both arms are straight and just touching the bed and table, you're facing directly at the door. Okay?" He watched his brother feel what Dean was talking about and nod. "Okay. Now I'm going to go stand at the door and I want you to count how many steps it is there. All right? I'll stop you if you're gonna walk into anything."

Sam nodded again and took a deep breath. He waited until his brother gave the 'all set' and counted seven steps straight to the door frame.

"Good job, Sammy. Now, go back to your bed."

When the room was sufficiently memorized, seven to the door, two to Dean's bed, and four to the closet, the boys moved through the rest of the rooms, measuring how many "Samsteps" it would take the boy to get where he wanted. Being able to use the walls, Sam found that he could get to his father's room, the kitchen, and the bathroom all by himself, and he felt himself grinning more and more with each step.

The boys retraced the routes several times at different speeds, making sure that Sam could get anywhere he needed at a full sprint or at a 'sneaking' pace, in case something was after them. They had just made it back to their room when John began to open the door. Dean checked quickly to make sure it was indeed their father and then turned to his brother.

"Go on, Sammy. Run out there and show him what you can do," he whispered.

Sam nodded, smiling, and ran out to the kitchen. "Daddy!" he yelled as he listened for his father's footsteps to stop. When he was sure of where the man was, he ran to him and threw his arms around him.

John had watched his son limp quickly into the room with no fear or seeming handicap and was overjoyed. Sam had banged into the kitchen table, but that was somewhat normal for the hyperactive eight-year old. John lifted the boy into his arms and hugged him close. "Can you see, Sammy?"

"No, Daddy," the boy sounded so much like his brother had the night his mother died, but John pushed that aside, listening to the boy again. " Dean and I figured out how many Samsteps it was from our room to here. And I could hear you walking."

John's face fell a little when his son's disability once again slapped him in the face, but when he saw Dean peeking into the kitchen, he smiled more brightly, beckoning the boy to him. He had to be strong for them.

"You did what?" he looked at his oldest son, trying to figure out what exactly Samsteps were.

" Sam knows how many steps he has to take to get everywhere in the apartment. He can walk, run, or sneak anywhere he needs to. Without anyone's help." The boy was beaming at his brother's accomplishment.

John realized the need for his youngest to be able to run or sneak anywhere wasn't for fun, and he wished for the millionth time that he didn't need to hide from ghosts or creatures. But for his boys to figure this out, for Dean to give Sam something he could do on his own, was heartening, and John thought back to Mack's assurances that his son was fine.

"Good job boys. I got chicken and mashed potatoes from that fast food place for dinner," Sam's eyes lit up behind his glasses at the mention of his favorite meal, "and some more silver to melt."

* * *

Dinner was finished, and Sam found that melting silver was one task that was too dangerous for him to attempt now. He was able, however, to clean his father's guns and put them back together, and busied himself doing that.

After a few hours restocking munitions and Dean sparring with their father, the boys were sent off to bed. Dean was walking slowly, sore from his father's lessons, and Sam was tempted to try and help him. But the boy would have had to have been completely oblivious to have not noticed Dean's ever-present need to be the protector, and so he didn't offer the help, but did walk a little bit more slowly from the living room to their bedroom so that Dean would stay in the lead.

The boys changed quickly, and Sam settled into his bed, once again clutching Todd. Dean watched the boy curl up into a small ball, and sat down on the side of his bed. He could tell that his brother was still uncomfortable in their 'home'.

"I know you're all grown up and everything now, Sammy." Dean smiled at his baby brother, wondering if the boy was resisting the urge to suck his thumb like he had done in the past. "But if you want, I could…read you a story or something, like you used to like."

The smile on Sam's face was masked quickly, but let Dean know he had hit right on the money. "You can…you know, if you want to that is."

* * *

John could hear the words of _The Prince and the Pauper_ floating out his boys' door as he walked by. He wondered when it was exactly, that Dean had become Sam's father figure, and John had stopped. Something in him resented the boy's relationship, even though he knew on some level that he had created it. Sam was the last thing John had that reminded him of Mary, and he was loathe to pass on complete responsibility for the boy to Dean. His oldest boy reminded him far too much of himself, and less and less of his mother, and he wondered where he had gone wrong with his sons.

Before he knew it, John was on his third beer in the living room, staring at the one picture of him and Mary that had been saved from their home and wasn't in his journal already. The pain that he held at bay whenever the boys were around was now overcoming him, and he found that the most comfort would come from reaching for another beer. The boys would be all right if he drank this; he would be able to help if he was needed.

* * *

Sam knew before he opened his eyes that something was off. He could head his older brother's light snores from the other side of the room, but his instincts told him that the noise wasn't what had awoken him. He was lying on his side, his left arm curled under his head and his right hanging slightly off the bed. One of the first things Dean had taught him about keeping himself safe was the element of surprise, so the small child kept his breathing even and did not open his eyes. _Not that they would do me any good anyway_.

The shiver that betrayed his feigned sleep set him on edge even more. Something smelled wrong, like it had earlier in the afternoon, the room was cold, and Sam was sure that he had heard something that didn't belong there. Then he heard it again. Someone or something was definitely in the boys' room.

Todd was clutched more tightly to Sam's chest, and his thoughts raced over what could be haunting them right under his brother and his father's nose. The two had always assured him that no matter what they did on their night missions, Sam would always be kept safe, and when he was old enough, he would be able to join them. That time was fast approaching, but it wasn't there yet, and Sam knew enough to realize that if something was coming after him, then he needed help. And that help was in the land of dreams exactly two Samsteps to the side of him.

" Dean?" Sam knew that the ghost of a whisper would be enough to alert his brother to his need for the older boy to be awake, and he wasn't disappointed. Standing next to his brother's bed, Sam could hear his brother ripped from his dreams. Dean's snores stopped immediately, and Sam could hear his pillow moving slightly. As soon as he called for his brother, however, the younger boy felt silly. How was he supposed to be a grown up if every time he got spooked he needed his older brother to fix it?

* * *

Dean had been dreaming, but of what he wasn't sure. The dream made no sense to him, and he was content to leave it that way when he heard his brother whisper his name. He was surprised at first that the boy's nightmare hadn't woken him up, for the oldest boy was sure that that was what Sam needed help with. Instinct honed from years of his father's training had him reaching for the hunting knife under his pillow. But then he smelled it; the unmistakable stench of a spirit broken free from the underworld. He could feel the chill in the room as it sent goose bumps down his arms and back. He arrested the movement almost as soon as it had started, rolling over instead to reach for the light.

The older brother saw his young counterpart standing next to his bed, outside the protective circle of salt that Dean so religiously drew each night.

"Back in bed, Sammy." The tone wasn't to be ignored or argued, and Sam took no time to contemplate the direction, simply nodded and slipped back under his covers, watching his brother intently.

Dean wasn't surprised to find that even as he threw the switch to the little table lamp, the room remained in darkness. Without wasting another thought on the light, he rose from his bed, reaching into the drawer to grab the salt box, and sliding across the room to his brother's side.

"I'm here, Sammy. It's all right now. I'll keep you safe." The words were automatic, and the hand that was placed gently on his kid brother's side was all that the boy needed to relax. He was supposed to protect his baby brother from anything that came to get him until their father could come to the rescue, and that task was more important in Dean's mind than a task on any hunt could ever be. There was no questioning the boy's ability to protect his brother from the supernatural, and he found himself at ease. This he could fix.

* * *

TBC… 


	9. Cassie

**_This is why I don't usually post WIP's...I'm sorry this has taken so long, and shamefully I have to blame it on the first season of Seaquest DSV that I've been trying to get through instead of writing...oops...but, since even I feel like this is starting to get long, there's only one chapter left after this one, and that's more of a wrap-up chapter...so, this will be done soon...oh, and fair warning, I felt like I was forcing the beginning of this, so I'm not exactly sure if it sounds right, but I'm content with it, so you get to read it now..._**

* * *

Chapter 8

Sam had seen his brother standing over him so many times beforehand that he could almost picture it now. He knew that something was wrong when Dean didn't climb into the bed next to him, laughing at how his baby brother had been spooked by the heat turning on or something. No, instead Sam could picture Dean with his back to the bed; his gun would be pointed at whatever beast had gotten the drop on them. There was no fear in the older brother's eyes, of course, for Sam had never seen Dean truly afraid. He would take this thing down or at least hold it back long enough for their father to come and send it back to the depths of Hell.

* * *

The situation looked somewhat different from slightly less jaded eyes. He knew that phantoms were not to be messed with lightly and that there was no way he could get to the spirit's bones to salt and burn them. The boy could only hope that he could get this spirit to manifest and give him a glimpse of what he needed. He had a circle of salt around his brother's bed, and was slowly reaching for the box of salt in the drawer behind him. Nothing had shown itself yet, and that put Dean on edge. He would never admit that he was afraid, of course, for then Sam might pick up on it. But each hunt still brought a shiver of emotion that the boy was hard-pressed to push away. His father told him it would come with time, but if someone were to look closely, there was still a glint of uncertainty whenever the boy had to go at it alone.

The room was cold enough to make his teeth chatter, and he could hear his brother sneaking more fully under his blankets. He wanted to call out for his father, but the same uncertainty that had made Sam believe that there could be nothing wrong earlier in the afternoon also plagued the older boy and he didn't want to call the man for nothing.

The box of salt was almost in his hands when Sam whimpered. The silence was getting to the boy, making the dark seem all the more oppressive, and he couldn't help the sound. The noise broke the flood gates loose. Dean jumped in spite of himself, drawing his hand away from the coveted mineral. And he got his wish as well. In a single instant, he knew what he was facing.

* * *

It is true that most spirits can come and go as they please; silent and unobtrusive. They exist in the world as we do and while some of them are intent on pestering those they have locked on to, most of them simply are stuck, unwilling to move on. Unfortunately for the Winchesters, this was not one from the majority. This spirit was not content to be stuck, and was therefore, as in Dean's thoughts, royally pissed off. It was, as a result, thoroughly willing to 'put on a show' and attempt to scare the boys it was haunting. Scare the boy, more correctly. The small, tow-headed child whose fear had been etched into this ghost's memory had to pay for its untimely demise.

* * *

The bang was loud enough to make Sam clap his hands tightly over his ears; abandoning Todd to the sea of blankets that swaddled him. He thought he could smell smoke and shivered involuntarily, not really remembering that night so long ago, but knowing the fear all the same.

With his eyes screwed shut out of pure reflex, Sam pulled the covers from his head, determined to squash his fear and at least attempt to act grown up.

* * *

The view was much more spectacular for the twelve-year old, and it gave him the push he needed to yell for his father. The spirit came into his vision with the first bang, but the boy wasn't impressed. He had seen more angry spirits than he cared to count in the few years he had been hunting with his father, and this one would be no different than any other. Salt, banish, and hope that it would go away until its remains could be burned. The only other way was to get the being's essence to 'finish its business' and move on. And Dean certainly had no patience for that.

When the spirit fully materialized, he could see who it was that haunted him. And he recognized her, complete with her bloody blonde hair and her delicate red hand. Dean wasn't ready to drop the element of surprise just yet, and so he asked shakily, "Who are you and what do you want?"

"I am here for the boy." Dean took a step closer to his brother's bed, deciding again that having the box of salt in his hands would make him feel better. "He has ruined me, and I am here for him."

"Well you can't have him. Not now, not ever. DAD!"

The brothers were both surprised, and a little bit worried, that their father hadn't burst through the door by now, and neither of them could hear his pounding footsteps barreling down the hallway.

The spirit snarled and wisped forward, pulling up short at the box shoved in her face. "You think that will stop me? He killed me; I deserve this."

"You. Will not. Touch him. Not now, not ever. He's eight years old, he didn't kill you. Or anyone else for that matter." Dean wanted nothing more than to reach out and clasp his brother's shoulder, reminding the boy of the promise to protect him always. He knew that if he did, however, the circle would be breached and Sam would be in danger.

"It is because of him that I am dead. That is the same for me. Get out of my way."

"Never." Dean took another step back as she pressed him, trying to scare the boy away from his brother.

She hadn't counted on the fierceness that had been instilled into this one since his brother had been born; hadn't counted on his knowledge that spirits were more than something to scare little brothers with before they went to bed. So now she had to wait until her foil made a mistake to get to her prey.

* * *

John heard the bang from down the hall and thought little of it. His boys had been notorious in the past for wrestling before bedtime, and had more often then not come out with more bruises than in their daily sessions. The furniture proved to be far less forgiving than the gear that they wore when their father was teaching them, and so the man was content to let the noise be, happy that some semblance of normality was returning as quickly as it was. The smell of ozone that wafted through the tiny apartment was lost among the stench of beer and whiskey, and John may have ignored it even if it had reached his nostrils. He was, for lack of a more eloquent word, drunk.

The cries of his oldest son angered the man, upset that Dean would be calling on him to tattle on Sam's ability to pin him or for some small scrape that the man knew his sons could both take care of. After all, he made sure that the first aid kit under his eldest's bed was always well stocked. The boys could take care of themselves for the night. He turned back to the shot of whiskey that he had poured from the once-full bottle and lifted it in toast to whatever his muddled mind was celebrating.

* * *

Dean had called for his father five times by now and was starting to worry over the man's health. Surely whatever John had been doing, it could have been stopped and supplies could have been found by now.

He watched, almost entranced, as the spirit's form began to look more solid. It was so much so that Dean could almost pretend that the woman in front of him wasn't dead and that didn't sit with him well. He had been taught long ago that what his family did for a living was a lesser of two evils, and that killing the undead was redundant. But the twelve-year old also was well aware of his father's feelings on violence towards other human beings unless it was absolutely necessary. The boy wished that this woman would stay transparent; it would make it easier to get rid of her.

It would also keep her from grabbing onto the collar of his worn tee-shirt and throwing him across the room, he mused after he hit the closet doors. The box of salt lay on its side under his bed, thankfully not having spilled all over the ground. _I should've made a circle around me too, I guess._

The boy pushed himself slowly back to his feet, rubbing the back of his head and kneading his knuckles into the already forming knot. He wasn't going to appreciate that one in the morning. His opponent was moving closer to Sam, however, and the boy had no more time to waste on such things as being hurt.

"Hey! I'm not done with you yet. You haven't even told me your name. Haven't told me who you are. How am I supposed to let you have my baby brother if I don't even really know why you want him?" _Please, Sammy, don't believe that I'd ever let her have you._ "Hey!"

The spirit turned back to Dean with a scowl on her face again. "My name is Cassie. And you know well why I want him."

"Cassie, hunh? Wouldn't you rather have me instead? You know, I am the older one, and I'd be much more fun than Sammy here would." Dean was pretty sure that she knew he was trying to stall, but he had to get back between her and his brother somehow.

Cassie simply grabbed Dean by his collar again and lifted him off the ground. She pulled his face close to hers and stared into his eyes before something sparked in her own.

Before Dean knew what was happening, he had been thrown hard against Sam's bed. As he crumpled down to the floor, he realized what she had been trying to do. In the second that he had been stunned, he didn't notice that his feet were still outside his salt circle while he sat inside it. He jumped up as quickly as he could, but the damage was done. He had breached the circle for only an instant, but it gave Cassie access.

"Sammy, get off the bed! Get over…" Dean didn't waste any more time with words as his brother was lifted from his covers. The older boy could see Sam's fear in clouded eyes as he felt the icy tendrils of a dead hand snake around his neck and pull him up into the air.

* * *

Sam couldn't tell how far away from his bed he had been pulled, but the darkness afforded him enough of a denial that he was able to push back the fear that he was near the ceiling. He knew he was in trouble, and didn't know what to do about it. Shivers wracked his already lanky frame as terror gripped him. It was getting harder to suck in air, and he wondered if that were more due to another panic attack or from the fingers crushing his trachea. Far from helpless, however, Sam's instincts soon kicked in and he found himself clawing at the vice that held him and kicking out in front of him, struggling to get back to the safety of either his bed or his brother's back.

* * *

Dean didn't have the luxury of believing that his brother was mere inches above his mattress as he watched the boy kick and scratch somewhere just inches from the light that hung from their ceiling. He could hear Sam choking as all of his weight was resting in Cassie's hand, and took no time in grabbing the box of salt from where it lay and scrambling up onto his bed. He stepped back to the wall before leaping into the air and grabbing onto Cassie.

It may have been a comical sight to see the two boys dangling from outstretched arms, both identical in their positions, if not for the fact that they were now both choking. Dean used one hand to try and pry her fingers from his neck, and waited until she was lulled into a sense of security before striking. The salt was thrown directly into Cassie's face, and Dean had to smile when she screeched.

Both boys were dropped to the ground as Cassie disappeared with a roar. Dean hit the ground and rolled, coming back to his feet as soon as he knew the fall wouldn't do any damage. He heard before he saw the damage that the fall had caused his little brother, however. The thunk of an unsuspecting body hitting ground made the older boy wince and he had to bite his lip when he turned around.

Sam was lying still on the carpet, too still for Dean's liking. He didn't have time to check on the boy or try to rouse him, though. The temperature had yet to rise in the room, and he knew that Cassie was already on her way back, having more tenacity through her want of the boy than the salt's pain had in keeping her away. Dean simply shoved his brother under the younger boy's bed, redrawing the salt line and moving as far away from it as he could. He had sworn that he wouldn't be the cause of any more of the boy's hurts, and damn it if he wasn't going to try his hardest to keep that promise.

The sight of red caught his eye as he shrunk into a corner, and all thoughts of letting his father do whatever he had deemed more important that his sons were wiped from his mind. All the boy could do was scream for his father over and over as Cassie began to rematerialize.

* * *

Two six-packs and a handle of whiskey did little to sharpen John's instincts, but his oldest son's pleas were starting to grate on his nerves. With a frustrated sigh and a concerted effort, the man dropped the shot glass back to the table in front of him and rose to his feet. One more longing look at the liquid that promised to banish Mary from his mind and he ambled off towards the boys' room, intent on reminding them that bedtime was not 2 am, and they should have been sleeping hours ago.

* * *

Dean didn't actually expect to hear his father's barreling steps, convinced that Cassie must have taken care of him first, but once he did, a smile came to his lips. The man would get rid of her once and for all, and the late night trip to find and burn her bones would be well worth it. He glared at the mist forming next to the bedroom door, willing her into existence before his father got there. It would take much less explanation if she were simply floating there. Therefore, Dean held onto the salt box for a moment longer instead of throwing it towards her. Then the doorknob was turning, and his grin turned into a smirk. No ghost or ghoul stood a chance with his father, of that much he was sure.

_Unbelievable._ Dean's disdain for his father's hobby was dripping in his thoughts as the man who was supposed to take care of everything now almost fell through the door as it opened.

"I fought I fold you boyth wha thime you were ethpecded thoo be in bed?" The words were slurred badly, and the twelve-year old could just barely make them out. The look of absolute incredulity on his face must have struck a nerve somewhere in his father's numb body, however. "Wha? Whadda you screaming abouth, Dean?"

"Nothing. Never mind, _dad._ Go back to your Jack. We'll go to bed soon." Anger, fear, and hate poured from the boy's eyes as he held his voice steady, knowing that the man would be more of a hindrance than a help like this.

John, always aware of how to find his son's emotions, simply glossed over them and shrugged his shoulders. He turned and stumbled back out of the room, unaware of the daggers being shot at him from Dean's eyes.

* * *

Cassie laughed at the boy when she returned to the room. "You didn't think Daddy dearest was coming to your rescue, did you boy? Looks like he couldn't fight off a mouse, much less me. Now, where did your brother get to? Oh there he is."

"Haven't you hurt him enough? For God's sake, lady. You hit him with your car! You almost killed him then. He's eight years old, damn it! He can't see, and he's missing organs that you damaged so badly that they had to take them out! He's broken and bruised and his heart stopped a bunch of times! Do you really think after he fought through all of that you can take him? Haven't you done enough damage?" The boy's rant was punctuated with sniffles as the tears that wanted to fall were fought back. _These tears are pointless and can't do anything to help Sam_ _now. Do you think he would want to see you like this?_ The words his father had spoken came to mind as Dean steeled his resolve. Sam definitely needed him to be strong now.

"I don't care what you think, you know. My brother isn't the reason you died. You just laughed at my father's drinking, but at least he isn't going to go and get behind the wheel of a car now. He's smarter than that; smarter than you ever were. It was your own stupidity that got you KILLED and MADE my brother BLIND! Haven't you done enough damage to both of our families?" Dean was shaking in anger now, and was crushing the box in his hands as he glared.

Emotions that the boy would banish from his own repertoire if he could played across Cassie's features as the innocent words opened her eyes. It really couldn't have been an eight-year old's fault that she had wrapped her car around a tree, or that she had listened to her boyfriend's assurances that she was fine to drive home before her own little brother got home from cub scouts. It wasn't the boy's fault that she had been drinking that early in the afternoon when she had responsibilities. Responsibilities that she shared with the irate pre-teen in front of her, and he obviously took far more seriously than she did. Nodding, the spirit's anger turned inward, and Dean had to duck his head and curl into the corner he was still standing in as she tore herself apart.

* * *

When Dean looked up again, the room's temperature had risen so quickly back to normal that he felt as though he was sweating. The stench of ozone was still thick in the air, but the bright light and angry sounds that had abruptly come and gone assured the boy that Cassie was really gone. He wasted no more time with the hunt, and dove under the bed, pulling his brother out and praying that the boy wasn't hurt badly.

When Sam's head was resting in his lap, Dean checked the gash on the boy's temple, pulling it closed with butterfly strips and holding gauze over it, intent on stopping the bleeding before using Steri-strips until their father could suture it closed. The smaller boy's eyes were closed and his body was limp, both scaring Dean and reminding him of the accident that had ended the same way: his brother unconscious and covered in blood.

The older boy knew well that head wounds bled more severely than innocent wounds elsewhere, but it was hard to keep calm with the sight nonetheless and he found himself shaking his brother's shoulders as soon as he had two hands once again. Fear brightened his eyes as Sam continued to lie limply on the ground, and the boy couldn't help wishing his father was there to help.

Dean's knuckles were white as they gripped Sam's shirt, and he had bitten his lip so hard that blood was now trickling slowly from the side of his mouth.

"Sam? Sammy? Come _on_ little brother, you've gotta wake up for me." Dean's plea was almost frantic again.

He had dropped his head to his chest in defeat and moved to scoop the boy into his arms, needing to get to his father.

"Dean?"

Dean physically had to shake his head to make sure he had heard the word, and finally looked down on his brother's bright eyes.

"Baby brother? Are you okay?"

"I…yeah, I'm okay."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy? What do you need?"

"Isn't that shirt getting a little bit too old for you to still be wearing it?"

* * *

TBC… 


	10. Healing

**_I swear, this is the last time I post a WIP...honest...until the next time I get the bright idea that I'll write it faster if I've posted part of it...remind me not to do that. Anyway, all good things must come to an end, and so Blindsided now can go into my folder of finished stories...so without further ado..._**

* * *

Chapter 9

Dean looked down at the faded blue shirt he was wearing. The red and gold Superman logo was cracked and nowhere near as brilliant as it had been three years previous when a very excited five-year old had watched him open the newspaper wrapping on his ninth birthday. It was still the boy's favorite shirt, even if it did hug his chest and arms and had a rip on the sleeve. He couldn't help thinking that it fit his role in Sam's life, and wasn't about to retire it just yet.

"No way, Sammy. I love this shirt. Do you remember giving it…wait a minute," the words died on his lips as he stared at his brother's face. There was blood dripping down the side of his face, and his features were taught, but the smile that filled his cheeks reached past the pain and dizziness from being unconscious and caused Dean to draw his gaze to Sam's eyes. Bright blue orbs stared back at him, clear enough to remind the older boy of the wisp of a memory he had of his mother's eyes. They were the same color: the color of the Kansas skyline the day after it rained.

Sam laughed when Dean continued to stare. "Have you figured it out yet, dummy?" He poked at Dean's nose with such accuracy that there was no way Dean could continue to have any doubts.

Without regard for his brother's inevitable concussion, Dean pulled Sam up into his arms and swung him around in a circle, giggling hysterically. The joy was music to the younger boy's ears, even if it was making his headache ten times worse.

"Dean. Dean, stop, please. You're making me sick!" The circling was stopped immediately, and Sam was hugged to his brother's chest. But the nausea didn't stop, and Sam found himself still counting Samsteps as he raced for the door and then the bathroom. He didn't see his father slumped over just outside the room, but the older boy did.

Dean was torn between making sure his brother was going to make it to the bathroom on his own two feet and seeing if his father was still breathing. The man disgusted him at the moment, however, as he remembered the disregard the man had held in keeping his sons safe as opposed to turning to his new best friends. Without a second glance Dean, too, raced for the bathroom.

The view in front of him broke Dean's heart. His little brother was curled up in the smallest ball imaginable as he shivered and wiped his mouth. The older boy could hear the sniffles from Sam's running nose and he could feel, more than he could see, the tears that his baby brother was valiantly managing to stave off. _Damn you, Dad. He's only eight._

A few seconds of staring at the boy was enough to pull Sam's attention to him too. He looked up at his protector and bit the inside of his lip. His father told him that crying was for babies, and he didn't want Dean to think that he was still a little kid. All he wanted inside, though, was for his brother to come and make him feel better. After not having used his eyes since before the accident, all the input taxing his brain was crippling. He almost wished for the darkness again to make him feel better.

Dean wondered if he was channeling his brother when his head began to pound at the bright light in the bathroom. He reached over to the outlet and clicked the nightlight on before turning off the light. "I'll be right back, Sammy. Don't worry."

Sam watched as his brother ran from the room again and sniffled. The cold from the tile beneath him was making his teeth chatter, and the feeling in his stomach hadn't quite left him. It only intensified when he looked up as the light came on again, causing him to flinch and bury his head in his arms.

"What are you doing on the ground? Little brat, you should be sleeping." The words weren't exactly mean, and the tone wasn't quite angry, the nickname having been given to the boy a while ago in jest.

Sam looked up to his father's face and instantly tried to make himself look less afraid, more sure of himself. "Daddy? I don't feel so good."

Had John been sober, the words would have crumbled any resolve he had not to baby his boys. After all, the little one held a dear spot in his heart that he had feared losing when Sam was in the hospital. However, alcohol was filling that spot right now, and the boy was in his way.

"Get up. Go back to bed. I don't want to see you out of that room again until…" John's words were cut off as he was pulled from behind and shoved against the wall. Shock registered slowly as he found himself looking down at his twelve-year old son holding him against the plaster.

"Don't you _dare_ speak to him that way, you ass. He could have _died_ again tonight and you were too busy getting drunk to care. So drunk that you passed out in the hallway _after_ completely IGNORING the fact that a _spirit_ was ATTACKING us! How _dare_ you come in here after that and hurt him further. You don't want to care about me like that, then fine, I know how to handle myself. But Sammy's only _eight_, and he doesn't need you to scare him any more than he already is. I'll take care of him, just leave us alone." Dean's voice had wavered between dangerously calm and all-out yelling, but he wasn't going to let his father do any more damage to the youngest boy. It was the first time Dean stood up to the man in his brother's defense, the only reason he would ever do so, and he had some vague idea that it wouldn't be the last.

The boy turned back to the bathroom, intent on slamming the door in his father's face when he thought of something else. "By the way, _sir_, your son can see again. That is, if you care."

Then the door was locked and John was left to drunkenly stare at the door, wondering when his son had grown up.

* * *

Dean turned the light out again and moved over to his brother. He could see that Sam was trembling and his breath was hitching, his face buried in his arms again. "Shh, it's all right now, Sammy. I've got you. No one else is going to yell at you now. It's all right, tiger. Here, let's get you warmed up, okay?" 

The blanket that Dean had run back for was wrapped around the boy's shoulders, the stuffed fox was tucked under Sam's arm, and the sunglasses were settled over small ears. The older boy settled down next to his brother and pulled him close, wrapping one arm around the boy's back and tangling his fingers into his hair, and laying his head on Sam's. The other hand checked him for fever, just in case, and then rubbed absently up and down the small arm until he was sure the boy was asleep. He had spent the time assuring Sam that it was going to be okay, and listening his brother's tears that finally fell freely.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure what had woken him an hour or so later, still huddled against the cold bathroom wall. He groaned lightly and stretched out his neck as his eyes darted around for danger. Then he felt the small form curled against his side trembling once more, his shoulders rising and falling as tears threatened again. 

"Sammy? What's the matter, little brother? You're safe here."

"Dean...I think I re...you don't really think I'm not important do you?"

There was hurt in the older boy's eyes, but fear also as he registered his brother's words. "Why would you say that, Sammy?"

"I remembered what happened before...before I got hurt."

The memory assaulted Dean, and left him shaking as well. Standing outside, talking to Emily. "_Nah, it's not important. It's just my little brother. Don't worry about him."_

"Oh God, Sammy. I…I didn't mean it. Not like that." Dean's heart was in the pit of his stomach, threatening to shatter into a million pieces again. He had to make this right somehow. His brother had just fully taped that heart back together with his returned sight.

"I don't mean to be in your way, Dean. I just wanted to play."

"I know, Sammy. That was the worst thing I've ever done, little brother, and I swear, you are more important to me than some dumb girl. I am so sorry for everything that happened, kiddo. I…I never meant for you to get hurt like that. I never meant for you to get hurt at all. God, Sammy; I'd do anything to make sure you never got hurt. You're my little brother; you're all I've got." Dean's guilt was making him ramble more and more, but he needed his brother's forgiveness more than anything. Sam was all he had left to remind him of what he had lost; all he had left to remind him of his mother.

Dean was still rambling when Sam lifted his casted arm and covered his brother's mouth. "Dean. A car hurt me. Some dumb girl made me hurt. You didn't do it."

"Oh Sammy. Don't you see? If I hadn't kicked the ball into the street, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It's my fault for this," he pointed to the cast on the boy's arm, "and this," to the casted leg, "and God, all of this." Dean pulled up the boy's shirt and showed him the scars for the first time.

Sam stared at the mass of stitch marks and incisions that crossed his chest and then up to his brother's eyes. Guilt and fear crossed his brother's eyes, and Sam pulled the older boy into as fierce a hug as he could manage.

"I don't care about all this stuff. You already told me that I'd be okay, so none of this matters. I just…you're still my big brother, right? My best friend?"

The blunt and innocent words stunned Dean. His little brother wasn't blaming him for any of what happened. He didn't think that Dean had caused him to get hurt, just wanted some kind of reassurance that his brother still loved him. _How could I be so stupid as to ever put someone before him?_

"Always, Sammy. Nothing could ever change that." He paused, not having uttered his next words since the little boy was learning to walk. But he knew that no matter how uncomfortable the words made him feel, he had to say them. "I love you, little brother."

Sam looked up at his brother's face. "Eww." He giggled and snuggled his head back into Dean's chest. "I love you too, jerkface."

"Brat. Let's go to bed. Unless, of course, you like sleeping on the bathroom floor." The light in Dean's eyes that had gone out the day Cassie had almost stolen Sam from him the first time was shining brightly once more. He stood carefully, letting the dizziness from his encounter with the closet doors wash over him and then pushed it aside, pulling his baby brother up beside him.

Sam rubbed the side of his head just under the Steri-strips his brother had laid down and groaned. "What'd I hit?"

"The bedpost, little brother. Here, let's clean the rest of that up while we're in here." Dean sat Sam down on the toilet seat and reached for the washcloth, carefully wiping away the dried blood with warm soap and water before looking at the gash under the bandages more carefully. "I don't think Dad's gonna need to stitch this up even, little brother. Looks like you got lucky."

Sam whimpered and shut his eyes tightly at the ministrations. "I'm sleepy, Dean."

"Then let's go to bed, all right. It's going to be morning soon."

The two boys left the bathroom and had to stumble over their father's form again. Dean glared at the man who was sleeping off the night's work, and was content to leave John there, but Sam had different ideas.

The blanket that had been in his crib the night his mother had been murdered was still a treasured object to the boy, and it had been the same cover that his brother had gone back for. It still lay draped carefully over his shoulders, almost like a cape, until the boy tugged it down and looked at it. To him, his father looked cold, and he didn't want the man to suffer. The blanket was the laid over the man's chest to Dean's astonishment.

"Sammy? What are you doing?"

"He's cold. Now he won't be." The eight-year old was nothing if not blunt, and as much as Dean wanted the man to suffer, he couldn't argue with his brother. Sighing, he nodded and led his brother back to bed, his arm taking the place of the security blanket.

It was easier to get the boy ready for bed now that he could see and take care of changing his shirt and crawling under the blankets by himself. Dean still insisted on tucking the covers tightly around his brother's form, laying a kiss on the boy's forehead, and sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, as if to assure himself that Sam was going to be just fine now. He had done his job, and he had done it better than either he or his father could have imagined. His brother was growing up, that was solid in Dean's mind, and he knew that while he would always need to protect Sam, the boy was going to be able to protect himself just as well soon, and that scared the oldest boy.

"Dean? Are you all right?"

Having been caught staring, Dean started and then laughed. "Never better, Sammy. You ready for bed now?"

"Yup."

"Okay then. Goodnight, little brother." Dean rose from the bed and headed back to the door, shutting off the main light before reaching for the bedside one as he lay in his own bed. He had just sent the room into darkness when he heard Sam yelp.

"Dean?" The fear in the boy's voice startled Dean and he found himself looking around for something else that was trying to hurt his brother

"Yeah, Sammy?" He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he couldn't see much in the darkness, and then he realized what had scared the boy.

"Do you think...do we still have that old nightlight?"

Dean smiled, reaching over and pulling the object from the table's drawer. He remembered waking up every morning with a headache from the light when his brother was younger and was afraid of the dark, and had nearly jumped for joy the year before when his brother had decreed that he was too old for that anymore. But if Sam needed that little beacon to remind him of what he had gained once more, who was Dean to deny him for a little bit of pain. He owed his brother at least that much.

When the light was plugged in and the soothing glow had cemented in Sam's mind that he really could see again, the boy eased back against his pillows and curled on his side. His eyes were just closing when he felt the bed sag under Dean's weight. The words were unintelligible as sleep had almost claimed him, but Sam's meaning came across. _Dean, what are you doing?_

"Don't worry about anything now, Sammy. Just sleep." Dean flicked the hair out of Sam's eyes and then moved his hand down onto the boy's back. "Just sleep."

Sam mumbled something that even Dean couldn't make out before shutting his eyes and journeying to the land of dreams. The older brother watched the boy until he was almost ready to fall off the bed in his own exhaustion. "Good night, Sammy boy," was whispered gently into the boy's ear before Dean moved off to his own bed, flipping off the alarm clock without a second thought. He didn't care if his father wanted them up at 5:30 every morning; the two had more than earned the morning sleeping in if he could help it. The twelve-year old was asleep before his head was cocooned in his pillows.

* * *

John was woken by the light streaming in through the bathroom window and he moaned as the headache made itself known. He raised his hand to his forehead to rub his temples, but was stopped at the feel of soft fabric covering his arm. Forcing his eyes open against his better judgment, he gazed on the blanket that had kept him warm through the early morning hours. Guilt stabbed through him as he stared at his youngest son's prized blanket, and images from the night before flooded his memory. Yelling at Sam when it was obvious the boy was sick and hurt. The blood that covered one side of his son's face that the man had ignored. His oldest son protecting Sam from him, looking afraid that the man would hurt his baby brother. Dean yelling for him before that. The smell of ozone and the chill that was in the boys' room as he entered to scold them. The mist that he should have noticed signaled a spirit's presence. 

Launching himself to his feet and grabbing onto the wall to steady himself, the ex-Marine raced to his sons' room, praying to God that his mistake hadn't cost either boy too dearly. The door was opened slowly, not totally ready to see any carnage that may be there. John caught sight of the blood on the carpet from his youngest's head, and the closet door that had been knocked off its track. There was salt all over the room, and the box was nearly crushed, abandoned on the floor. The man felt sick to his stomach as he realized what had almost happened. Tears came to his eyes when he saw both boys sleeping peacefully, and he crept into the room, covering Sam in his blanket before laying a hand on his head and offering a quick thank you to whoever had made his oldest son so responsible for the boy.

Bending over to kiss Dean carefully on the forehead before leaving the room once more, pulling the shade down over the window to keep out the sun's rays, John noticed the nightlight. His son's words came back to him, and his head whipped around to stare at Sam. The boy could see; he was going to be just fine now. Guilt plagued him and the man raced down the hall, unaware that his oldest had woken and was now following him.

* * *

Dean watched as his father pulled bottle after bottle from the kitchen where he had hidden all of them, and then poured each one down the sink. He shook his head, not young enough to believe that this would be the last time he witnessed a sight like this, and not old enough to realize that his father needed some help. He simply waited until John turned to face him. 

"Good," was all he offered as he glared at the man and turned back to his room, waiting for his baby brother to wake up.

The End.

* * *

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* * *

Epilogue 

**One month later**

A new apartment and a new job greeted the family Winchester just three days after Sam's casts had been removed and he had been given a fully clean bill of health. There was something to be said for the resilience of young children, and it seemed that after the one panic attack in the Impala, Sam had completely forgotten about the incident.

The boys were in the back of the complex, far from any street or car, playing soccer. While Sam's fear had disappeared, it seemed that Dean's protectiveness had only increased, and as John watched his boys kicked the old, battered basketball around, he couldn't help realizing that the accident had played a large part in that as he knew it would. He watched over the boys, himself, with more of a fervor than he ever would have, afraid almost to let the two boys out of his sight. He had vowed to be a better father to the boys, but the last banishment he had worked had taken a lot out of him, and he tore his gaze from the boys to stare at the new bottle of Jack Daniels. The bottle was quickly hidden in the kitchen, and John sighed. Some things, it seemed, were beyond his control to change.

John turned back to the boys again and saw some girl from the complex slide up to Dean and try to get his attention.

* * *

Sam saw the girl start talking to Dean and picked up the ball. He wasn't going to tempt fate a second time.

* * *

Dean stared at the red-head talking to him. She was half a head shorter than him and the twelve-year old was impressed at the girl's impulsiveness. He had kicked the ball back to Sam and turned his attention to her, but when he saw Sam pick up the ball, his heart clenched. There was no way he was going to let his baby brother think that some stranger was more important than him. 

"Look, Melissa…"

"Michaela."

"Whatever. Can't you see I'm playing soccer with my brother? I'm busy." He ran past her and caught up with Sam, tackling the boy to the ground and stealing the ball. "Come on, Sammy. You aren't tired out yet, are you? We were just getting into the game."

The smile that came from his brother filled Sam's face completely as he untangled himself from Dean and giggled. There was a sparkle in the boy's eye that Dean hoped would never fade. The boy hugged the ball that had been handed back to him, and his blond hair was falling more fully into his eyes, making the boy look as innocent as ever.

* * *

That was the image Dean thought of as he stared out of the window ten years later. He watched as his baby brother loaded 3 small bags in the trunk of the neighbor's car and got in. The boy was leaving them for Stanford, and their father had told him to never come back. As much as the now twenty-two year old wanted to keep the young man right by his side, he couldn't help thinking of the sparkle that had indeed begun to fade as Sam had become more bitter about hunting. There was something that his little brother wasn't telling him about why he was leaving, of that Dean was sure, but he knew in his heart that it would be for the best if Sam stayed away. Dean felt as though he had lost his brother for good this time. And so he cried.

* * *

End.

**_So, I'm done...but I do have more stories planned, I promise...I just have to get around to writing them...and if anyone has any plot bunnies that they aren't using and would like to see me attempt, I can try, I'm always open to ideas..._**

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**_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this...I got over 10,000 hits on this story, more than I've ever gotten on one, and too many reviews to mention them all...so you all know who you are, I can't thank you enough..._**

**_Cube._**


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